


The Angel's Share

by hopeless_romantic_spoonie, yespolkadot_kitty



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, NO INCEST HERE, crimson peak au, romcom, thomas sharpe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2020-11-22 23:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20882351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_romantic_spoonie/pseuds/hopeless_romantic_spoonie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yespolkadot_kitty/pseuds/yespolkadot_kitty
Summary: Katherine Adams has exactly three fucks to give. One for the bar she manages, one for her patrons, many of whom have become friends, and one for her mum, who single-handedly raised her in London. She certainly hasn’t got any left over for tall drink of water Sir Thomas Sharpe, who’d like her to sell his estate distilled whiskey in her popular Soho bar. She’s tasted his type before, born with a silver spoon in his mouth with no concept of hardship or graft. But like his whiskey, Thomas has a distinct, unforgettable taste. One experimental sip might not be enough.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> “the angel’s share” refers to the amount of whiskey that is lost in evaporation whilst the spirit is aged in barrels.

__   


“Sir Thomas Sharpe was found dead today, not, as one would expect from lesser nobility, from an overindulgence in alcohol, but rather face down in a copper still, drowned in his own, admitted excellent, single estate whiskey.”

“For God’s sake!” Lucille called from the chesterfield she lay on, reading. “Would you  _ stop _ inventing your own obituaries? It’s disturbing.”

Thomas lined up a dart with the dartboard in the study and closed one eye, aimed again, then let the dart fly. It hit the bulls’ eye. “What else am I supposed to do? It’s hard to be an eccentric baronet without actually  _ doing _ anything eccentric, you know.” 

His sister rolled her eyes, the gesture almost audible even as he couldn’t see it.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Thomas said without heat, without turning around. “What do you suggest I do, sister dear?”

Lucille sat up, her tumble of raven hair laying over her slim shoulders. “Perhaps you could actually, you know. Sell your whiskey in this time zone.” 

Thomas’ shoulders squared, then slumped. Ever since he’d returned from visiting famed and well-heeled drinking establishments all over the US and South America, successfully selling them crates of his whiskey,  _ Crimson Peak _ , to stock, Lucille had been harping on about him selling  _ Crimson Peak _ in the UK.

And he would. It had been a hit overseas, so drinkers here would like it. 

Probably.

But there was something about trying to sell his whiskey here, where most of the other minor nobility and  _ all _ of the media, knew his father had been a wastrel and an alcoholic.

The whiskey was a way to try and redeem his family name. The irony of the fact he was using alcohol to wipe clean the slate of a dead alcoholic wasn’t lost on Thomas.

But it was one thing to sell your whiskey abroad. That was fine. That was  _ easy. _ He wasn’t Sir Thomas Sharpe, one of the country’s youngest baronets, when he was in America. He was just a British businessman.

It was easier.

It was  _ safer _ not to risk running into one of his old Cambridge friends. Or to rub shoulders with other minor nobility who might’ve run in the same circles as dear old Dad.

Dear old cheating, alcoholic dad.

Dead, now.

Thomas swallowed the sour taste in his mouth, the bitter flavour that thoughts of his late father always brought on.

The bitter knowledge that he still cared about a dead man’s opinion.

“I think I’d rather be found dead from falling off a horse playing Polo,” he mused out loud. “Less whiskey wasted, that way.”

Lucille stomped out of the room with a huff.

He let her go. She’d taken their father’s death a few years ago harder than he had. She had been a Daddy’s girl; saved from most of his wrath. Thomas hadn’t been so lucky. He hadn’t wanted to burden Lucille with the truth then and he probably wouldn’t now.

He threw another dart, but his aim was off **, ** his mind elsewhere. Tucking the remaining darts in his shirt pocket, Thomas rolled up his sleeves and then tried again. He saw himself reflected in the big mirror over the mantlepiece, his tumble of raven’s wing hair askew, his jaw scruffy with a couple of days of whiskers. He’d inherited his father’s sharp, angular features and height, and his mother’s clear, agate blue eyes. 

Lining up the dart, he studied the board. Tried to focus.

He hadn’t played properly in ages, needed a traditional pub with a pub board for that, really. He missed some of the watering holes he’d frequented in his younger years in London.

“Still sulking?” Lucille asked as she re-entered the room. Their study was large and airy; the floor to ceiling windows looking out on to the avenue of proud, arching oak trees that led up to the sprawling country pile they called home. 

Thomas still felt more at ease in the bustle and lights of London, having attended boarding school there prior to his undergraduate years at Cambridge. He’d returned to London for a few years after University, too. The heady, constant pulse of the city called to him, the layers of history and culture and diversity all layered in stone and trees and museums and the rush of the underground.

London had been a brilliant place to waste five years of his life avoiding his cruel, overbearing father and his duty to his family name.

When he had finally surfaced from half a decade of debauchery, he’d known it was time to do something. He hadn’t known at the time that distilling his own whiskey would be how he’d make his mark on the world.

“I believe it’s called  _ brooding _ when a man of a certain age and status does it,” he drawled in reply. 

Lucille scoffed and shoved a folder at him. “I’ve been wondering when the time was right to give you this. I think it’s now.” 

Thomas turned to her and took it. The slim folder was embossed with gold leaf, elegant and understated. The red script on the front read simply  _ Crimson Peak. _

“What is this?” he asked slowly.

“Your grand re-entry into the London whiskey world,” Lucille said innocently, her beautiful features, matching his own in creamy complexion, adopting the expression too easily for one so mischievous. 

Thomas knew better. Lucille was rarely genuinely innocent.

“What did you do.” He heard the sharp edge to his own voice. His words hadn’t been a question.

“I did what you clearly haven’t got the balls to,  _ brother _ . I planned a launch event, meitculously, I might add, and invited representatives from the best twenty drinking establishments in London.”

Thomas shook his head, opening the folder and scanning the contents. “This is.. Tomorrow night, Lucille. How long have you been planning this?”

“A few weeks. At most.” Se managed to maintain a straight face as she spoke.

“And were you planning on telling me  _ later _ than today? It’s  _ tomorrow, _ for God’s sake.”

She grinned at him as she walked back to the sofa to pick up her book. “I suppose you’d better pack, then.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are introduced to the female lead in the story, Katherine Adams, AKA Kate, who runs into Sir Thomas Sharpe.

“You owe me a drink for this. The good stuff, not the bottom of the barrel well booze that you give Frank when he’s three sheets to the wind.”

“Well, maybe it’ll be _Crimson Peak_, if you give it a good review. Thanks so much, Kate. I can always count on you!” Eddy sang her praises into the phone, punctuating his statement with a cough that sounded more canine than human.

“Please don’t mention it,” she grumbled snarkily, ending the call with her boss, the owner of The Dapper Tap, and sliding her phone into the ridiculously tiny clutch that she had dug out from the recesses of her less-than-tidy closet. She felt almost naked without her standard large black purse slung over her arm, holding all of the essentials and then some, but that wasn’t _proper_ for the launch of a new line of whiskey.

Proper could kiss her arse.

She passed the cabbie a handsome tip as she got out of the cab as gracefully as she could manage. Thankfully the event wasn’t held in the heat of the summer day, and her flowy red dress would provide a bit of a breeze as it brushed against the tops of her knees with each quick step toward the building.

“Name, please?”

Her feet, clad comfortably in black sandals because she was _not_ being paid enough to wear heels, had taken her right up to the entrance to the historic-looking red brick building without her noticing. She startled and lifted her distracted gaze up from where it had been trained on the lush green grass, taking in the attendant standing guard at the entrance. Dressed in a suit that had to be far too hot, he looked about as pleased as she did to be there.

“Katherine Adams, representing ‘The Dapper Tap’,” she stated clearly, brushing her caramel colored hair out of her face as she stifled a sigh.

The young man, he was practically a boy, checked a clipboard he had pulled out from behind his back before waving her through. “You’ll find everything straight on through the hallway and out the other side.”

“Thanks,” she nodded once, skirting past him, noticing he wore an earpiece. This was clearly an event with proper security.

Whoever had thrown the event, Eddy hadn’t mentioned it amid his coughing fit, had pulled out all the stops. Coming out onto the lawn that had been indicated to her, the spectacle was quite a sight to see. Music from a small band set-up on a wooden stage drifted to her ears, bouncing off of vine-covered walls and only faintly muffled by the guests already in attendance. Small, but tall tables with wrought iron and wood stools were scattered around at regular intervals, offering a place to rest a glass while exchanging handshakes and business cards. The occasional waiter parted the crowd, carrying finger foods to dull the effects of what would most likely be too much whiskey passed around amongst those in attendance.

_Best get on with it._ Pasting on her best customer-service face - a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes - she thrust herself into the small, obviously curated group of attendees, searching for a familiar face amongst the crowd as she made her way to the bar where the liquor in question was served. She plucked a napkin from one of the various small stacks dotting the bar, glancing quickly at the finely printed script on its soft surface.

_Crimson Peak, the finest barrel-aged whiskey produced by the Sharpe estate._

“Straight, please,” she told the waiting bartender, preferring to taste the varying flavors of the alcohol without the diluting effects of ice or mixers, although that would surely help the heat concentrated on the back of her neck from her thick mane of hair. 

Cupping the glass and placing a few bills pulled from her bag into the tip jar - as a former bartender, she knew the importance of tipping - she turned around and headed to an empty table, chewing idly on her bottom lip as she slowly inhaled the bouquet of the amber-colored liquid.

It wasn’t unpleasant, with layers of oak and smoke that tickled her nose. Pulling a sip into her berry-stained lips, she allowed her gaze to roam the grounds, searching for the man responsible for the expensive sales pitch in question. His unforgettable face, all high cheekbones, guileless blue eyes and a poet’s mouth, had been plastered over tabloids several times over recent years, his nights spent on the arms of beautiful society girls in the doorways of exclusive clubs in Mayfair and West India Quay serving as pressing news for countless sycophants everywhere.

And then he’d dropped off the face of the World. Or so it had seemed.

Why he had reappeared now, hawking his wares, was anybody’s guess. It wasn’t her prerogative to question the comings and goings of people born with silver spoons in their mouths. She had a living to earn; a life to live. And it didn’t include hobnobbing with the upper classes in venues that cost more than a month’s worth of her wages.

Her mission was simple: meet the man so she could prove to Eddy that she’d showed up, sit through what would surely be a presentation full of hot air (him) and eye rolls (her), take the sample bottle that would probably be offered, and hop in a cab home in time to watch her favourite late-night detective drama before bed. It was rare that she had a Friday night off, and she wasn’t going to squander it staring up the noses of the gaggle of holier-than-thou guests milling about on the lawn, likely talking about croquet and the best way to roast a pheasant in your Aga these days.

_There._

Stuck in what was surely a dull conversation with a portly man with the ruddy face of a man who seemed to know his liquor, and a tittering socialite whose smile stretched too wide over her heavily made-up face, stood a fallen angel in a masterfully cut suit.

His midnight-black hair framed his face, a riot of waves and curls that looked soft enough to sink her fingers into. His blue eyes met hers across the expanse of lush green lawn, his irises the striking colour of the ocean at dawn. His sharp features, softened by a mouth made for sweet nothings and sin, could have graced any number of magazines. His tall frame was draped in what was surely Armani, the tailored navy fabric skimming his long limbs, the crisp white shirt flirting with a carefully revealed triangle of his flat chest.

_Sir Thomas Sharpe._ The socialite’s date of choice some years ago. 

His gaze held hers and he glanced down at the ruddy-faced man. “Excuse me. I’ve seen someone I must catch up with.” His beautifully enunciated words carried to her across the stretch between them, and he headed towards her, a friendly smile tipping up the corner of his mouth. Serious, he was handsome, but the smile elevated him into downright _stunning._

Shame this was one tall drink of water that she’d never sip from. Even if he had been her type, which he most definitely wasn’t - far too posh - she wasn’t his, her curves a little too pronounced and soft in comparison to the athletic, ultra-toned models he was used to cavorting with about town.

“I owe you one,” he murmured as he approached Kate. “Thanks for saving me from being quite literally bored to death.”

Kate looked up at him, unimpressed. She cocked her head slightly, genuinely curious. “What percentage of the time does that line work? Fifty? As much as seventy, maybe?”

He frowned. “I beg your pardon-”

A glass being clinked over the PA system interrupted whatever he had been about to say. _‘A glorious pearl of wisdom, no doubt’_, Kate thought with an internal eye roll. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. Please take your seats in the drawing room where Sir Thomas Sharpe will give a short presentation on his single estate whiskey, _Crimson Peak_.”

“Looks like you’re up, _Sir_,” she said, her distaste for the title dripping from her words much like the condensation on the outside of the glass she held carefully in front of her. She gave a slight mock bow at the waist, gesturing for him to go ahead of her into the grand stone archway of the - hopefully air-conditioned - building.

“Miss,” he began, in that James-Bond-dipped-in-chocolate voice, but she shook her head. “I truly didn’t-”

“Good talk, GQ. See you in there.”

And she strode away without a second glance, lifting the glass to her lips for a sip. The rush of oak and woodsmoke on her tongue faded away to the dance of an aftertaste, heady, with a hint of sweetness, like a half-remembered song.

Funny, she’d expected it to be awful. Not soulful.

It made her wonder.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Kate spar verbally again, but Kate's more interested in a chippy tea than a pretty posh boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying penning this with my babe @hopelessromanticspoonie !

Adjusting his cuffs, Thomas waited in the wings of the small auditorium tonight’s venue boasted. Somewhere in the small audience,  _ she _ sat.

He truly hadn’t meant to offend her, or pick her up. He’d clocked her, whilst almost dying of boredom trying to keep up with a discussion Sir Winston had engaged him in on the most recent issue of  _ Country Life Magazine  _ \- and she looked a breath of fresh air. Flat shoes at the bottom of long legs. A red sundress, demure, hitting her knees, neither a ballgown nor a skirt high enough to see her upper thighs. She looked - sweet. Approachable.

And he desired her company more in that moment than he’d wanted his next breath. She’d slammed him down when he hadn’t even been hitting on her. And wasn’t that something? As the wheels turned in his head, he waited to be announced.

”And to present his whiskey story to you, I give you, Sir Thomas Sharpe!”

A smattering of applause circled the large space as Thomas stepped on to the stage. The lights were low, but he surreptitiously cast his gaze around for the beautiful stranger in the red dress. He finally lit upon her in the third row, expecting to see her fiddling with her phone or something, but no, she was paying attention, her back straight, and when their eyes met, he could swear that she saw  _ right _ through him.

He gave his pitch, touching on his father’s less than salubrious past, and his own years of debauchery, before ending with a short film of his on-site copper stills and a few shots of the bottles being sold in New York, Beijing, and Moscow, among other cities. 

The whole time, she watched him, her eyes never leaving his face. It was at once nerve-wracking and very intriguing.

“Please, if you would, follow the door signs back to the marquee, where further tastings and miniature bottles will be available to enjoy here or take with you to your establishments.”

He bowed his head to the lectern as people filtered out, chatting among themselves. He pretended to occupy himself by flipping through the notes that were merely blank prompt cards that he’d brought along in case of nerves; something to occupy his hands so he didn’t over gesticulate as he was prone to when nervous.

Was it possible to die of nerves? He’d add that to his growing list of fake obituaries. It had the benefit of pissing off his sister. 

“You talk a good game. I’ll give you that.”

Thomas looked up from the slightly elevated stage to see  _ her _ waiting, arms folded. Her eyes looked tired, like she’d seen his type a million times before. And perhaps she had. “Is there something I can help you with?” His gaze dropped to her chest - not to ogle her wares, as he’d been raised better, but to clock her security pass. “You don’t strike me as an Edward.”

“I-” She looked down, and for the first time since they’d met, she smiled genuinely. It softened her whole face, warmed her dark brown eyes, and for a second that stretched, he was entranced. “Eddie’s my boss.”

“And is he here tonight?”

“He’s home, coughing up a lung.” Her tone implied she might still be willing to trade places with him. 

“How unfortunate.” He did his best to layer in sympathy to the words, but even he could tell that it sounded as if he felt it was anything but unfortunate. It wasn’t often that he met a young woman on his ventures selling his whiskey, usually meeting with grizzled barkeeps and tough as nails women several decades his senior.

“For me, yeah.” She folded her arms again. “You talk a good game, GQ. And your whiskey isn’t terrible.”

He laughed because she was a breath of fresh air. Something he hadn’t tasted in some time.

“Shall that go on the reviews on the website, then? ‘The famous  _ Crimson Peak  _ Whiskey isn’t terrible’ claimed by…?”

*******

She decided to throw him a bit of a bone. What would her name hurt when she wasn’t going to see him again? Not that she wouldn’t mind  _ seeing _ him again, she couldn’t deny that he was easy on the eyes, but she wasn’t about to start galavanting about town with a posh pretty boy. What would the neighbours say? “Katherine Adams, but my  _ friends  _ call me Kate.”

He smiled, the easy action lighting up his decidedly pale face. Maybe he should have tried to sell his whiskey somewhere that had seen the sun. London wasn’t exactly known for being bright and cheery, but somehow she still maintained a nice honey glow to her skin - helped along by the special tanning cocoa butter lotion her mum had always used. “Claimed by Katherine Adams, employee of ‘The Dapper Tap, Soho’.”

She took notice of his use of her full name, decidedly putting him in the ‘acquaintance’ category. Fine with her. Not like she’d ever see him again after tonight, anyway. He was a long, tall drink of water for sure, but not to her taste.

Readjusting the clutch tucked securely between her bare upper arm and her side, she shifted on her feet, angling her head toward the door. “Well, I’m going to snag one of your tiny airport bottles for Eddie and then head on home. I’m not used to having a Friday night off, weekend night off, really, and I plan to take full advantage of doing absolutely nothing but watch the telly. Thanks for the riveting conversation.”

Just as she had done after their last chat, she turned on her heel and left without another word, already pushing the thought of the handsome Sir Thomas Sharpe far from her mind to ponder on what she wanted to get from the chippy for tea.

*******

“Another, Dave?” The following evening, Kate leaned over the old oak bar, smiling brightly down at the older gentleman on the other side.

“You know me,” he replied with a wink. He’d been coming here for over a year, claiming he wanted to get away from the yappy little dog his wife had got for a pet now their kids had left home. But Kate had seen pictures of the teacup terrier on his phone.

“That I do.” She pulled another glass from up above the bar before pulling him another pint of Spitfire, humming quietly to herself as she performed the mechanical action, one she could do in her sleep. She wouldn’t normally be behind the bar on a Saturday night, but Eddie seemed to have passed his bug to half the staff. 

And she did feel at home here, passing a drink to her regulars, chatting away about the struggles of their lives and passing the rare moment of spare time by chopping up fruit behind the counter for the occasional cocktail that was made - most usually an Old Fashioned or a Martini - dirty. Most of their customers were salt-of-the-earth types, her kind of people, just looking for a pint or the occasional shot to take the edge off of the day.

Rain hammered on the windows as the jukebox in the corner - an antique store find that she’d helped Eddie cart back here on the tune, what a mission that had been - played  _ Waterloo Sunset _ by The Kinks, and she hummed along, loving the classic tune. The jukebox only played classic British bands - The Who, Queen, the Beatles and the like.

She was peeling the rinds off of oranges for Old Fashioneds when she heard another regular, William, grumble in front of her, in his gruff cockney accent, “Is he lost?”

  
Somehow, she knew who it would be before even looking up. Freeing her hands and wiping them on an old rag before setting them on her curvy jean-clad hips, Kate lifted her impassive eyes to the Baronet, arching her brow. “Can I help you,  _ Sir _ Thomas?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate and Thomas strike up a few deals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved writing this chapter with the absolutely astounding yespolkadot_kitty!

He knew he probably looked a fright. The rain outside had been relentless, and he’d come out without an umbrella. His hair was plastered to his head and had started to curl, as it did when wet. And here was _Katherine_, looking delectable and totally at home behind the bar, her caramel hair sleek over her shoulders, the curve of her hips just visible in black jeans.

“I came to drop this by.” He offered the silky bag with a boxed, half-size bottle of _Crimson Peak_ inside. “For Edward. Your boss,” he clarified. 

She looked at him as if he’d grown another head. “I took one of the miniatures.”

“In case he - or you - would like a proper taste.”

If he’d expected her to make some sort of pun about tasting _him_, he was disappointed. She took the bag. “Thanks. That’s…. Kind of you.”

She said if as if he’d given her a bag of snakes. He had no idea what to make of her. And it was intriguing. Addictive. 

“Eddie’s sick,” she said shortly, bending down to put the bottle beneath the bar before straightening up again. “So he might not get this for a few days. Then he’ll decide whether to ask you to stock it.”

Thomas folded his arms, surveying the bar. It was well appointed, he had to admit. Beautifully restored jukebox belting out solid tunes. Leather seats that were looked after, not a crack in them. Polished wooden stools, hardwood floors - no sticky carpet here. Quirky framed pictures of dogs playing poker and kooky Rubenesque nudes. No wonder it was busy tonight. He could see his whiskey going down well here.

“Can we talk?” he asked, drawing his attention back to her, his brows curving upwards hopefully. “When do you get your break?”

Kate looked around her in an exaggerated manner. “It’s only me here.”

“Are you serious?” She was handling this entire crowd by herself? Not that it was rowdy, mind you, but almost every seat was taken, and there wasn’t an empty glass in sight. It was impressive.

“Does a bear shit in the woods? Of course I am.” She gestured to the man who’d arrived at the bar, empty glass in hand. “Excuse me.”

Thomas stood back as she expertly pulled a pint of Bison from the tap, letting it settle for a scant second before topping it off. The customer paid and she flashed him a smile - making Thomas feel absurdly jealous - before turning back to him and scowling.

“Still here?”

“I’d like to have a conversation,” he said, keeping his tone mild.

She smiled, the barest hint of exhaustion keeping it from quite reaching her dark brown eyes. “And I’d like a hand behind the bar, and also a million pounds, but neither’s going to happen, are they? So, if you-”

She wanted to play, did she? “I’m afraid a million pounds is rather beyond me, but I can pull a pint.”

Her mouth opened and she shut it without any sound coming out. Then she blinked. “What did you say?”

Without an invitation, Thomas lifted up the hinged divider that separated the serving area of the bar from the patrons. He shrugged off his coat and threw it over an empty chair, then rolled up the sleeves of his black button-down shirt. Holding out his hand, he met her gaze steadily and said, “Pass me a glass.”

An eyebrow arched, she did as he bid silently, shifting her weight back onto one hip and crossing her arms over her dark gray button-down, the Dapper Tap’s logo embroidered over her left breast. He could see the wheels turning in her head.

Thomas settled a hand on the draft tap for Reverend James, and, hoping he could indeed put his money where his mouth was, slowly pulled a pint. He didn’t look at Kate once, concentrating on the task at hand.

When he was done, he handed it to her. “Care for a taste?”

Her gaze dropped to his mouth for a millisecond. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he’d have missed it. But he saw it. “Sure.” She raised the pint glass to her lips and he noticed that her small, neat nails were unpainted today. “You’re all right, Sharpe.”

The grin spread slowly across his face. He had her now. “Here’s the deal I propose. I pull pints for an hour, you give me five solid minutes of conversation. No less.”

A skeptical frown paraded across her face, but she knew a good deal when it was offered to her. “You’ve got yourself a deal, GQ.”

“You let me know if that whippersnapper gives you any trouble,” the man she’d called Dave said from his seat on one of the bar stools.

Kate chucked his cheek with a wink. “I know I can count on you, Dave.”

Thomas barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

The door of the pub jangled and a group of six came in, talking and laughing and smelling of the popular curry house a few doors down. Kate elbowed Thomas gently. “You’re up, Sharpe. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

*****

While Thomas pulled pints, she set about making the offhand cocktail and passing him clean glasses when he needed it. But, she had to admit, he could hold his own. As his hair dried it just seemed to curl more at the edges, combining with his rolled sleeves to make him look much more relaxed than she had ever seen him - the whole two times that she had. But he fit in. Mostly. His jeans that hugged his thighs and behind far too perfectly, his soft-looking button-down that flexed and stretched over his back as he worked, and his boots all spoke of more money than her typical customer. But, ignoring all of that, he did a fairly decent job at fitting in.

That is, until he opened his sinfully shaped mouth.

“I believe my labour is almost at an end,” he remarked, pulling her from her silent perusal as she leaned against the mirrored wall of alcohol behind her.

Nodding her head, she glanced at an ancient clock on the wall before grabbing the bottle of _Crimson Peak_ she had stored away, quickly making up two Old Fashioned’s for them both. She slid one his way when another customer came up, asking for another pint, and she thought nothing of nudging him out of the way with her hip to pull the requested pint.

Turning around, she found him watching her with an expression she couldn’t place, holding his cocktail in front of him. He was far too close, she could faintly make out the smell of his cologne or aftershave - citrus and leather and spicy warmth that settled over her in a heady haze. Clearing her throat, she stepped backward, grabbing her own drink and gesturing for him to go back around the bar to an empty stool.

“Okay, you served your time, so you have five minutes.” She took a sip of the drink, humming lightly at the sweetness of the orange and sugar that just barely cut through the burn of the whiskey, still allowing for the smokey notes to linger on her tongue long after the alcohol had seared a path into her stomach.

His whiskey _was_ good. Memorable. Unique. Like the man himself, but she’d rather eat her hat than say that out loud.

He took his own taste of the drink, and she couldn’t help but smile with pride when he nodded his appreciation. “You certainly can tend a bar, Katherine.”

She flicked her hair over her shoulder, her prideful smile turning into one of teasing. “Eddie doesn’t just keep me around for my good looks, you know.”

His eyes remained firmly on hers, but she caught a quick flicker of heat behind them before he glanced back down at his glass to take another drink. “So, the reason that I came here tonight wasn’t solely to bring about the larger sample of my whiskey. I have a proposition for you. For both of you, you and your manager.”

Intrigued, she toyed with the edge of the orange peel in her glass, narrowing her eyes at him lightly in thought. It was worth hearing him out. “Continue.”

He shifted in his seat, leaning forward and propping his forearms up on the bar. “I would very much like to sell _Crimson Peak_ in this establishment. You seemed hesitant about the venture from the beginning, so I would like to extend an offer to both you and _Eddie_ to come to the estate. Come view how the whiskey is made, let us prove to you its worth. I can tell by the way you’re nursing that drink that you like how it tastes. Just one weekend is all I ask. The estate will bear the cost of your travel and your overnight stay.”

Sir Thomas was smooth, that was for sure. The entreating look he was shooting her over the bar was one she was sure had sent countless women swooning over the years. And while he was stunningly handsome, especially having lost some of the polish on him from the bit of hard work he’d put in for her, it wasn’t enough to have her following in his past conquests’ teetering heeled footsteps. “Buy a girl dinner first, would ya?” she joked, brushing him off, playing for time.

“Name the restaurant and the hour, Katherine, and you have a deal.”

Oh, the opportunity was just too good to pass up.

*******

She thought for sure she’d catch him out of his element, recommending the tiny basement Chinese restaurant off Leicester Square. The place barely had enough room to breathe, let alone for the four round tables taking up a majority of the space. The heavenly aroma of warm spices, sesame oil and fried meat filled the air, an enticing, unmistakably oriental scent that made her mouth water. She didn’t even glance at the menu placed before her, having come here often, instead keeping her eyes trained on the door for her dinner companion to arrive.

The sound of the pouring rain met her ears as the door opened, and in he strolled, looking far too confident and cool for what should have been a surprising venue to him. He was supposed to think himself above hole in the wall places like this, thrown off-kilter, awkward, _not_ looking like sin personified.

Sir Thomas flashed a charming smile at the tiny waitress - especially in comparison to his towering frame - by the kitchen door who hurried over to greet him. She pointed him in Kate’s direction, who sat up straighter now that she was the subject of his attention. His leather jacket glistened with the summer rain rolling off of the slick, jet-black material, and his deft-fingered hands reached up to rake through his raven’s wing hair, attempting to tame the errant curls against the damp.

He unzipped and slipped off his leather jacket, revealing a white button-up shirt rolled up again to his elbows, the top two buttons undone to allow just a hint of dark chest hair to peek up through the gap. She should _not_ be focusing on that. Pulling her eyes back up to his face, she caught his soulful stormy blue eyes watching her take him in, the barest hint of a smile visible on his poet’s mouth.

Was it even _legal_ to be that hot?

“So, you, uh, found the place okay?” she asked, cursing herself inwardly for sounding like such a simpleton. She was still shell shocked to see him looking so at ease in the establishment, smiling pleasantly at the petite waitress who walked up to them.

“Your directions were perfect,” he confirmed.

“Hey, Kate.” The tiny woman who’d showed Thomas in, her dark hair piled high atop her head smiled curiously at him, but said nothing.

“Hiya Karen. Gok still giving you the runaround?”

Karen grinned, rolling her dark brown eyes. “He’s a rocket on little legs for sure. My toddler,” she explained to Thomas. “What can I get you?”

“How about… you okay for me to take the reins, Sharpe?”

Thomas gestured for her to go ahead. “I bow to your superior knowledge. I trust your judgment.”

Did he have to be so nice? Was he for real? “Cool. How about a couple of char siu bau, a plate of noh mai gai, a load of har gau, um, two beef noodle rolls, and a bowl of garlic pea sprouts. And two Tsing Tao beers?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow at Thomas. 

He nodded, leaning over the table propped up on his elbows, his hand cupping the other as he watched her. His long legs were stretched out to the side, encased in dark denim.

This close to him, it was impossible not to appreciate his beauty. It would be so easy to fall into the bottomless depth of his light eyes, give in to the urge to see whether his palms had calluses or not, but that was out of the question. He was too upper class, he came from too much “old” money, having known a life of silver spoons and privilege, a life that she had been cheated out of long ago - and now one that she decidedly did _not_ want. She wouldn’t fall into his beautiful and deadly trap.

She’d made that mistake already. Life didn’t give you any free do-overs. 

“I am buying you dinner, which fulfills my end of yet another bargain. Does that mean that you are willing to visit my estate - with Eddie, of course - to see for yourself the legitimacy of my whiskey?” he asked, his velvet-lined voice low and soft, intimate, with his request.

Kate was grateful to be bought time to reply when they were interrupted by their food being placed before them, the intricate dim sum delicate and fragrant on the plates embossed with dancing dragons. The aroma of the food soothed her in its familiarity. After a hearty bite of her favourite prawn dumplings, the morsel warming her from the inside out, she leaned back in her chair with a sigh. “We’ll see.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate finds herself on a train to the English countryside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written with my partner in crime and sister from another mister, @hopeless_romantic_spoonie. She's the best.

Eddie owed her Friday nights off for a  _ month _ . Maybe two, depending on how this visit went.

Her train to the countryside the following Friday afternoon was just pulling out of the station when her phone had vibrated. She reread the text message again, hoping that maybe it would change upon second glance:  _ Sorry, Kate, still dealing with half the staff getting over being sick. It was go in or close the pub for the weekend. Try not to kill him; there’s a lot of paperwork involved if you want to employ criminals. _

Another text followed five minutes later:  _ Let me live, too. Please? I’ve got kids. _

“If by kids, you mean cats, then I guess,” Kate muttered, rolling her eyes and letting her head fall against the sun-warmed glass of the window, wondering how staunchly she would have to follow that last command. Eddie had probably purposefully waited until after the train had left before he sent the text so that she had no choice but to go on the journey, alone. She  _ could  _ turn back around once the train stopped, head back to London and pretend this weird arrangement never happened.

But that was the coward’s way out, and she wasn’t going to let the thought of spending the weekend at a stuffy, unbearably stiff country estate and distillery - if indeed there was one and Sharpe wasn’t bluffing - send her running scared with her tail tucked between her legs.

Two hours later, she stopped reading her book - a tight Swedish thrilled tipped for the Booker prize - on her phone as the scenery outside slowed, the gently rolling green hills stretching for as far as the eye could see. For someone born and raised in London, it was odd to see so much open space. Even the air smelled better, crisp and pure, as she stepped out onto the open-air platform. It was warm, clean, the faint smell of grass that had been freshly cut mingling with the less-than-pleasant smells of the station.

Hoisting her duffel bag over her shoulder and her large black purse over the other, she set off toward the taxi line. Just before the exit, though, stood several groups waiting for the arrivals of their loved ones. And one man, dressed elegantly in a fine black suit with a flat cap to boot - seriously? **!** \- held a sign with her name on it.

“Just couldn’t help but show off, could he?” she grumbled at the man, strolling up to him. “I’m Katherine Adams. I’m assuming you’re taking me to the Sharpe Estate?”

It was hard to tell his age behind his sunglasses, but the driver’s smile was kind when he offered his hand to take her luggage from her. She only adjusted it on her shoulder more resolutely, waving in the direction of where she assumed the waiting car was parked.

“Yes ma’am. They are very much looking forward to receiving you. If you’ll just pop your baggage in the boot, we can get going.”

She followed him up to a sleek black car, clearly expensive at one point, although even her less-than-knowledgeable eye could see that it was a few years old. But the leather seat that she slid onto was comfortable and had clearly been well-maintained, cushioning and supporting her curves nicely.

The driver didn’t offer any conversation, which was just as well, as she was too busy attempting to enjoy the beauty of the passing trees and greenery despite the nerves rolling in her stomach. She knew nothing about the Baronet beside what she had learned from the occasional bit of gossip: he had an older sister, Lucille - unmarried the last anyone knew, he was the head of the business, and his father had squandered away a great deal of their fortune on his dreadful alcoholism. He hadn’t added much to it until recently, choosing to spend several years gallivanting around the world with demure debutantes and stunning socialites.

Kate was neither. But, that was besides the point.

So when the car rolled down the fine white avenue of gravel, shadowed by massive oak trees on either side, anticipation and anxiety manifested themselves in one hand rubbing lightly over the tight blue jeans on her thigh, the other tugging on the collar of her simple blue and black flannel she had left open over a black tank top. She hadn’t known what to expect for the tours, so her scuffed black boots sounded quietly on the floor of the car as she tapped her feet.

The house - if she could call it that - was massive, bigger than anything she’d ever seen in person excluding Buckingham Palace. Light brown stone comprised the outer walls, combining with the ivy that crept along some of the walls to suggest just a hint of wildness, and an age to the building beyond her lifetime. She caught what looked to be a few balconies interspersed on the second floor, along with many tall, thin windows peppered over the facade that hinted at the great number of rooms found within. Some windows shone, others looked untended.

She briefly caught sight of the great wooden front door opening before the driver stepped into view, opening her door and stepping wide to allow her to get out. She did so, smoothing her hands over non-existent wrinkles on her jeans, feeling like she wasn’t dressed nicely enough to even  _ look _ at the home.

_ Surely they’ll realise I’m an imposter here. I’ll be back on the train in a hot minute. _

Out of nowhere, a little boy ran up to her, face flushed and light eyes bright. He tugged on the pants leg of the driver urgently. “AndyAndyAndy,” he sang out. “Is that the lady Uncle Thomas was talking about?” he asked, pointing unabashedly at Kate.

_ Uncle Thomas?  _ That was an interesting development. She got down on one knee, smiling at the fair-skinned boy. “I probably am. Is your Uncle Thomas around anywhere?”

“Gideon Sharpe! You  _ cannot  _ just run off when I’m talking to you!”

Kate lifted her gaze to the house to see a woman who could be nothing other than Thomas’ sister - the similarities were  _ just  _ uncanny - striding towards them purposefully, her finger pointed at the little boy. Her tall frame suited her knee-length leather boots, navy barbour and jeans perfectly. About an acre of midnight dark hair was piled atop her head in a haphazard style that managed to look perfectly chic.

Opposite her, Kate felt like she’d been dragged through a hedge backwards. 

Thomas’ sister scooped up the boy - Gideon. Her cool, assessing gaze swept over Kate, not unkindly, but without a smile. “Welcome to Allerdale Hall.”

“Thank you,” Kate replied, trying to inject some warmth into her tone.

“My brother’s no doubt at the stables. I’ll take you. That’ll be all thank you, Andy.”

“Yes ma’am.” Andy dug in his pocket and produced a small sherbet lollipop.

Gideon looked up at his mother from his position in her arms. “Can I? Pleeeeaaasssseeeee.”

Lucille rolled her eyes - and the typical long-suffering mother expression made Kate thaw to her a bit. “Go on, then.”

Gideon took the candy and thanked Andy. The employee got back in the car and drove off to goodness knew where. Another rich family? A huge garage for rich-people cars? 

Kate dutifully grabbed her duffle bag and followed in Lucille’s wake as she and Gideon proceeded around the back of the enigmatic house - if a house could be called that. Kate imagined it as the star of some glossy period drama; the pretty facade with a hint of wild, the sprawling ivy alluding to both love and disrepair.

*******

God, Kate would be fit to be tied when Andy picked her up, Thomas thought, shaking his head with a smile as he mucked out stables.

They had a stable man for this job normally, but Thomas liked the hard manual work some days. It stopped him thinking of what his life had been like for those few dark years before he’d finally turned the family fortunes around. How he and Lucille had begged, borrowed and stole to keep from starving. When Lucille had worried that Gideon wouldn’t have a roof over his curly little head.

He wiped his forearm over his brow and pulled off the henley he wore, tossing it over his shoulder like a rag as he continued to work, shovelling the straw into the wheelbarrow. His muscles begged for mercy, but he preferred this labour to running on a treadmill in a gym. The circulated air in those places made him feel stifled; trapped.

“Uncle Thomaaaaasssssss!”

He recognised that urchin’s voice. Thomas turned just in time to scoop up his nephew with one arm as the boy barrelled towards him, all speed and no stealth. Gideon hugged him tightly and then grimaced. “Ew! You’re wet!”

“I’ve been doing sweaty work.” He lifted his gaze to see Lucille and Kate - a vision in a sleek black tank top and an open plaid shirt, the female lumberjack fantasy come to life in a very vivid way - walking towards him. He set Gideon down and leaned on the shovel he’d been working with.

“Your guest is here, Thomas,” Lucille said shortly. “Come on Gideon. Let’s go see what’s happening for dinner.”

“Bye Missus Kate!” Gideon called as he scrambled to run after his mother, grabbing her hand as they disappeared into the looming house.

Thomas tossed the shovel aside. “I’d have cleaned up if I knew you’d be early.” He used the henley to wipe his face and dab at the hollow of his throat where sweat habitually pooled when he worked. 

Kate looked at him for a long moment. Once again he had the sense that she saw every part of him, who he’d been and who he might be in the future. She had an arresting gaze, and he liked it. “I didn’t know you did…. This.” She gestured up and down his long frame with a lax wave of her hand.

“Didn’t know I shovelled horse shit?” he asked quietly, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate settles into her room at Allerdale, and she and Thomas share a quick and unexpected moment before dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, written with my splendid sister-from-another-mister, yespolkadot_kitty!

_Hot damn._

He had absolutely no right to look that delectable doing something so mundane - and downright disgusting - as mucking out horse stalls. Her eyes drank him in greedily, following a bead of sweat as it trailed down the column of his neck to the hollow of his throat, before spilling down the porcelain planes of defined muscles of his torso and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans. The barest smattering of black hair extended from beneath his belly button to disappear beneath his trousers, matching the patch of hair between his firm pectorals. For such a slender man, he was much more muscular than she expected, built with an underlying strength that was more agile speed than brute force. Not that she had thought about him half-naked. Not at all.

Pulling herself from her momentary lapse of judgment - she was not attracted to the posh Baronet - Kate painted a smirk onto her face, shifting her weight onto one hip. “Well, you had to get all of the bullshit that comes out of your mouth from somewhere.”

He shook his head, a smile tugging at one side of that gorgeous poet’s mouth, pushing back a few sweat-dampened locks of hair from his face before tugging on his shirt. All the better, as she couldn’t let herself get distracted by his almost unmarred, marble-pale complexion. “Where is Eddie?”

Adjusting her grip on her duffel bag, she couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Well, he spread his plague to half of the staff, so he had to stay behind and work the pub. So, you’re stuck with just me this weekend.”

The look in his eyes as he walked over and easily took her bag from her made it seem like he wasn’t too upset at the turn of events. “I’m sure we’ll manage somehow. Come, I’ll show you to your room and then I can give you a brief tour of the house before dinner? With it becoming dark soon, I planned to save the tour of the rest of the facilities for tomorrow.”

She tried to snag her bag back off of his shoulder, but he angled his body away with a shake of his head. Not wanting to fight a losing battle against the long-limbed man, she shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and fell into step with him. “Sure thing, Fabio.”

He quirked his brow. “Fabio?”

Her chocolate brown eyes danced across the sprawling landscape, trying to imagine a young Sir Thomas Sharpe running around just as Gideon had been earlier - perhaps terrorizing Lucille just as his tiny doppelganger had upon her arrival. It was a pleasant image in her head, and the small smile that had graced her face at the thought remained when she shifted her attention back to her companion. “You know, that guy from the romance novels? My mum used to read them. He’s an American. Always shirtless, with long hair, ripped chest all oiled up as he tenderly embraces the swooning damsel in distress.”

“I can’t say that I’m familiar, but I do appreciate the comparison,” he winked, holding open a side door, waving her inside.

The interior was just as grand as the exterior, with towering ceilings, intricate chandeliers, and hardwood floors that had to be original. She followed Thomas up a grand staircase, trailing her hand up the smooth handrail, imaging years and years of Sharpe’s doing the same. This was not a world that she belonged in, one of old money and place settings with too many pieces of silverware on them. The history practically oozed out of the walls, taunting her with elegant crown molding and creaking floorboards.

He followed her into the room that was to be hers for the weekend, setting down her duffel on a cushioned leather seat on the end of the four poster bed. “Through that door is an ensuite, which should have everything you need for your stay. The balcony is private, but the French door can stick sometimes. There’s a stone outside you can use to prop it open so you don’t become trapped out there. Dinner and drinks will be,” he paused, glancing at the wide-faced, leather-strapped watch on his wrist briefly, “in about one hour. I’ll come collect you around then to show you where the dining room is, if that’s alright?”

“Sure thing,” she replied, propping her hip against a dark post at the corner of the bed. “Thanks, Thomas.”

A look of pure shock flashed across his face before he could replace it with polite indifference. He cleared his throat, backing towards the door. “Until then.”

Once the door was shut behind him, she took in the room with a critical eye. It was nice, the wooden furnishings sturdy and oiled, the mattress yielding but firm beneath her as she sat down to kick off her boots. Through the windows she was given a view of the back garden, which didn’t look wild, but wasn’t meticulously maintained, either. Perhaps she could sit out there later at night, see what the sky looked like without the bright London lights to dim the brilliance of the stars. 

Humming quietly to herself, she set about unpacking her clothes, hanging them up in an antique wardrobe in the corner that looked as if it could take her to Narnia if she looked hard enough. 

Her entire flat could almost fit in the large bedroom and ensuite bathroom. Even sparsely furnished as the rooms were, it wasn’t hard to imagine them full to the brim with gaudy decorations to match the faded wallpaper on the walls, fancily dressed women tittering to themselves in fine clothes about their men off hunting on horseback.

She felt like a time traveler, unpacking her toiletries onto the white marble countertop in the bathroom, glancing at her reflection in the large gold-framed mirror before her. She didn’t belong here, with her cheap flannel and worn blue jeans. Running a brush through her thick caramel hair, she mentally shook herself. Who was she trying to impress by freshening up? Certainly not Thomas, and she didn’t know what to make of Lucille just yet; the enigmatic woman was a puzzle for sure.

A knock sounded on her door, pulling her from her inspection of her heart-shaped face, making her brush clatter to the counter loudly. “Shit. Coming!”

Tugging on her flannel, she padded to the door, having spent so long looking about and lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t thought to decide if she should change. Wasn’t that something that posh people did? Wear nice clothes to impress absolutely no one of importance, risking ruining them with a spilled bit of sauce? She tugged open the heavy wooden door, finding Thomas standing on the other side, running a hand through his damp obsidian curls. A few wayward locks curled around his jaw, kissing his freshly shaven skin. _Damn._

And he wore _another_ bloody henley, forest green this time, complimenting his creamy skin and raven hair. He smiled, a relaxed, warm expression, taking in her unchanged outfit save for her mismatched black and white socks. Bergamot and citrus wafted over her as she stepped out of the room, skirting around him so close that her arm brushed his chest. She was acutely aware of the brief contact, but refused to acknowledge why that might be.

“To dinner, then? You must be hungry after such a journey,” he swept his arm down the hallway, azure eyes twinkling brightly. “And if you are thirsty, I hear that an excellent whiskey is produced on the estate that I’m sure you will enjoy.”

She walked in the direction he suggested, crossing her arms beneath her chest. “So, there _will_ be whiskey served besides _Crimson Peak_?”

*****

Thomas chuckled. Kate was a spitfire. He’d seen a softening in her today, though. He knew it. A tiny chink in her extensive armour for sure, but he’d seen it. They reached the staircase and he offered her his arm, elbow out in invitation.

“You’ll be offered a choice of mixers if you find the taste of the whiskey is not to your liking.”

She gave him the side-eye, but he saw a smile ticking up at the corner of her mouth, her eyes dancing with amusement. After a moment’s further hesitation, she slipped her hand through his arm and he walked her down the stairs as if she were a grand duchess attending her debutante’s ball.

“What is it?” he asked, when she cleared her throat, clearly mulling over whether to speak.

“I can’t figure you out, Thomas,” she said eventually, her voice soft as they reached the last stair.

He glanced at her face, her profile delicate. His name in her voice sounded like an invitation to sin. “Really. In what sense?”

“You don’t act...rich.”

“And how should I act?” he asked, genuinely curious. 

Kate slipped her hand free of his elbow and looked up at him. The low light from the ancient chandelier at the foot of the stairs touched on her hair, picking out the gold in the warm honey-brown of her locks. “You shouldn’t be like this. Kind. Hardworking. Friendly.”

He lifted a hand to tuck a stay lock of hair behind her ear. “Who put the shadows in your eyes, Katherine? I’ve a mind to rough them up.”

“Thomas, I-”

“Uncle Thomas! Missus Kate!!” Gideon barrelled into the back of Thomas’s legs and he stumbled. Automatically Kate’s arms shot out to steady him and he grabbed on to her, pulling her close. The lines of their bodies fit together perfectly, and Thomas breathed her in, the faintest hint of strawberries and the freshness of soap in her scent. The whole contrary package of her made his heart thump wildly. Her effect on him made itself known further down his body too, and he made himself think unsexy thoughts to refrain from making either of them uncomfortable. His jeans were a bit too tight as it was. 

“I beg your pardon.” He drew back, steadying himself, but he’d seen the quicksilver flash of want in her eyes when they’d accidentally embraced.

“No worries, GQ.” Kate slid her palms down her jeans. “Hey, Gideon.”

The boy grinned up at her. “I’ve been making aeroplanes! Wanna see?”

“After dinner, Gideon,” Lucille called out as she appeared in the dining room doorway. “Hello, Kate. Settled in all right?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kate said stiffly.

Lucille led Gideon through to the dining room by the hand. Thomas leaned in to Kate and murmured; “She’s all bark and no bite, I promise. She’s reserved.” When Kate smiled, he added, “Remind you of anyone?”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I’m not taking your bait, Sharpe, no matter how low you dangle it. I’ve been on a train for two hours with nothing but mints and I’m starved. Let’s eat.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate and Thomas share a midnight moment, and Kate opens up a little about her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving penning this with @Hopeless_romantic_spoonie !!

It was late, so late that the night had almost folded over into morning. 

Thomas sat in the drawing room - one of the only downstairs rooms of his father’s to have been kept pristine in the selling of possessions to keep the wolves from the door in the lean times - with a snifter of  _ Crimson Peak _ in his hand, staring out of the window, looking without seeing.

He missed his wolfhound. Baskerville had been a good boy; friendly, loyal. Thomas remembered curling up in front of the fire, sprawled over the giant dog’s belly, his little hands curled in the dog’s thick, warm-smelling fur.

Baskerville’s death by his father’s hand had been one of the darkest days of Thomas’ young life. 

He was drawn from his miserable reverie - how most of his reveries went these days - by the creak of a floorboard.

“Gid? You’d better not be out of bed,” he called from his chair. The only light in the room came from the small lamp on the corner of the desk. The hallway and the remainder of the room sat in shades of grey.

Silence, then Kate’s voice.

“I didn’t know you had a curfew for guests, Fabio.”

He felt a smile spread across his face. “Sneaking about, are we?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Brooding, are we? It works better if you frown more, maybe narrow your eyes a bit. Curse God under your breath. You know.”

“Touche.” He had to work hard not to laugh. God, she elevated his mood. “Still, you might do well to remember that Allerdale is rumoured to be haunted.”

She stepped into the doorway silently. Her hair tumbled over one shoulder. Her feet were bare, the nails painted a bright blue. She wore jogging bottoms and a t-shirt that proclaimed ‘I AM FUCKING MAGNIFICENT’. With the moon shining a halo around her from the big hallway window, catching the lines of her delicate features and the curve of her lush hips, Thomas couldn’t disagree.

“Can I tempt you?” he asked, lifting the decanter of whiskey he’d placed on his father’s wide mahogany desk. 

Her eyes narrowed a second, and he prepared for more snark. But instead she yawned, and then shrugged in agreement, crossing the room to drop on to the chair opposite his. Thomas loved the wingtip chairs, old as they were. In the good times, his father used to read to him, both of them cuddled up in these big chairs, and Thomas had felt happy and loved and secure on his father’s knee. The older man had smelled faintly of pipe smoke and mint. The scents still made Thomas melancholy to this day.

He poured Kate a small measure and handed her the glass. When she took it, their fingers brushed momentarily. He felt the electric contact. The fire leaping between them. If he ever took her to bed, he knew instantly that they’d set the sheets alight. 

_ If I ever take her to bed.  _ No one took Katherine Adams anywhere. You didn’t prepare for a woman like Kate, you simply buckled in and enjoyed the ride. 

“Thanks,” she murmured, inhaling the spirit. “And to answer your question, I couldn’t sleep. Too quiet. I’m used to ambulances roaring past at all hours. Don’t suppose you could do me a favour and round up a couple of drunks to fight outside? That’d definitely send me off.”

“City girl,” he teased, rolling his eyes.

“Country toff.”

Their gazes met and held for a second, and Thomas felt that fire crackle between them again.  _ Fuck, _ he wanted her.

“If we’ve learned anything over the last few days, surely it’s that appearances can be deceptive,” he said mildly.

Kate lifted her glass in a toast. “I agree, and yet you did insist on bringing me out here to see your frankly magnificent mansion in the middle of nowhere. You could have shown me a picture? Even a little video on your phone? But no. You wanted me to be  _ here _ . In the country. To see the huge house. And what is probably a garden the size of a football pitch. So, toff.”

Thomas sipped his whiskey thoughtfully. “Maybe I just wanted you, Kate. Maybe it was never about the whiskey. You ever think about that?” 

She coughed in surprise, a little of the spirit going down the wrong way. As she spluttered he abandoned his own drink and shot from his chair, rubbing a hand over her back to soothe and encourage her breathing. “There, darling. That’s it. Just breathe.”

Kate glared at him as she sucked in a breath. “You can sit down now, Dr McCoy. I’m hardly  _ dying. _ ”

He grinned. “And a Star Trek reference. Be still my beating heart, she’s back.”

*****

The combination of the whiskey burning down her throat and his hand searing through her thin t-shirt where it came to rest between her shoulder blades had a different heat coiling low in her belly. This close, with him hovering over her with such concern, the warm glow of the lamp catching on the angles of his face, it was all  _ too much _ . 

She ducked her chin to cough into her elbow, shaking her head as she cleared her throat. “You’re just lucky that I can’t breathe well enough to really lay into you, Sharpe.”

His hair created a curtain around them as he leaned over her, lending more intimacy to his gaze as it fell to her parted lips. “I look forward to that day, Katherine.”

The sound of her name in his rich baritone, full of dark promises, sent a shiver down her spine that he had to have felt with his hand still on her back. She needed to create space between them, and quickly, before her curiosity got the better of her. Her hand pushed lightly on his chest, the deep burgundy jumper deliciously soft beneath her fingertips. With the space she made, she could stand up and move over to the window. She felt she could breathe again without the heady cloud of citrus and bergamot that perfumed his skin surrounding her. She caught his heavy sigh at her retreat, but ignored it.

Searching frantically for a change of subject in the dark woods, she tapped the crystal in her hand with her fingertips. Her eyes caught on the twinkling of stars through the clouds, a sight she had been hoping to see since she had agreed to the journey. “The one benefit to being out here in the middle of nowhere is the sky. I’ve never seen so many stars before…”

The floorboards creaked and felt the heat of his body against her back as he came to a stop behind her. “Have you ever been to the countryside before, Katherine?”

Maybe it was the whiskey lowering her inhibitions, or the fact that her back was to him, or the stillness of the night begging for her to break the overwhelming quiet. Maybe it was his soft, imploring tone, genuinely wanting to know the answer to the question. Whatever it was, she opened up, just a bit, her face tilted up to the cool blue moonlight.

“Mum says that my biological dad, the glorified sperm donor, has a house out in the country somewhere. Lots of land, estate older than dirt, like this place. Something only someone with old money or who profited off the backs of others can afford.” She took a sip of her drink, relishing the bracing smokey alcohol scorching her throat even as her knuckles whitened to still the shake in her hands. 

“He took her there, once, before he dropped her on her arse for having the gall to get pregnant with me - as if he had no part in it. He claimed she was chasing him for his money, his status in society, that she was just American trash looking for a way to lock him down.” Her humorless laugh tasted bitter on her tongue. “He still sent her money, even after all those accusations. Sends me the money now that I’m an adult. Neither of us have taken a pound of it. But raising a child alone in London is hard, expensive. There wasn’t really money to just take a trip anywhere, even a little cabin in the countryside. Maybe somewhere farther up north, with a fireplace and feet of snow all around…”

His hand settled on her upper arm, and she didn’t pull away. It was comforting, warm and large, anchoring her to the moment so that she couldn’t slide back into the darkness of her memories. She turned to him, resting her hip against the cool window as she regarded him thoughtfully.

Standing there, watching her with the same protective concern he had earlier on the stairs, he was  _ beautiful _ . His crimson jumper seemed to infuse more color into his face, even with the dark gray button down underneath that just peeked out the top of the jumper’s neckline. Even when relaxing in his own home, he was well-dressed, a product of his privileged childhood through and through.

She felt like a gremlin in comparison with her hair mussed and bare feet peeking out from her pajama bottoms. She was  _ common _ , nothing like him, and she never would be. She knew better than to let him get this close. The last time she had fallen for such a well-mannered, handsome package with expensive clothing, her heart had been torn to ribbons.

Some days, she felt like she still hadn’t collected all the pieces.

She couldn’t let that happen again, no matter how much she longed to know if Thomas’ lips would taste like the bittersweet whiskey on his breath as he gazed down at her. Her heart hammered in her eardrums when he shifted closer to her, his chest brushing against hers. The same look of desire that she had seen earlier before dinner flashed in his eyes. Sooty lashes touched his cheeks as his head tilted towards her. “Kate…”

_ Oh no. No no no. _ Panic raised its ugly head as her heart fluttered in her chest, desire warring with fear. Not fear of  _ Thomas, _ but fear of heartbreak. Fear that loving the wrong man one more time would destroy her, throw her into a hole she’d never truly climb out from.

She pressed her back against the window, placing her free hand on his stomach to still his approach. It took every bit of willpower she had not to stroke the muscles there that clenched beneath her touch. “I… I should go back to bed. You promised me a tour of the grounds tomorrow, and I’ll need my rest to keep up with those long legs of yours, GQ.”

Ignoring the look of disappointment that pulled the curve of his lips downward, she retreated back to her designated room, still gripping onto her drink for dear life.

That was too close.

*****

The next morning, Kate was only mildly disoriented when she woke up to the sound of, well, nothing, besides her alarm blaring loudly in her ear. Pushing the frizzy mane of her hair out of her face, she stumbled out of bed, the previous night heavy on her mind as she went about her morning routine.

She had let him get too familiar, giving him an insight into her past when he hadn’t asked for it. It was foolish of her. His earnest demeanor and charming ease had pulled her in, hook, line, and sinker. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Tugging on her scuffed boots after she had finished dressing - today in a thin sweatshirt that read THIS IS WHAT A FEMINIST LOOKS LIKE and some denim cut offs - she left her room, braiding her hair over her shoulder as she trotted downstairs to find Thomas and get the day started. Maybe she could hurry him along and she wouldn’t have to stay another night. If she was lucky, she’d be on her little sofa by six pm, Netflix on and a fish and chip dinner on her lap.

“Sir Thomas Sharpe? Where you hiding? Let’s get going, Fabio!” she called down the hallway.

Gideon poked his dark head out from the dining room. “Missus Kate! Hello!”

Charmed, Kate stopped and smiled at him. “Hi there.”

“Looking for Uncle Thomas?”

“I sure am.”

Gideon offered his hand. “I’ll take you. He’s in the stables. Do you want breakfast first? Or coffee? Adults always seem to want coffee but it’s disgusting,” he added, scowling.

Kate had to laugh. She loved kids. They had no filter and hardly ever lied, at Gideon’s age anyway. “I would love some coffee. But I’ll make it, shall I?”

“Already done,” a voice from the kitchen called. Kate recognised Lucille’s dulcet tones and steeled herself for the perfectly presented Englishwoman. She’d already prepared herself to feel like a troll around Thomas’ regal sister.

Lucille didn’t disappoint today, her hair coiffed in a neat bun, dressed in darkwash, immaculate jeans and a sleek navy gillet. “Good morning.” She handed Kate a mug. “Black?”

“Perfect.” Kate sipped the inky black brew gratefully as Gideon tugged her hand.

“Come  _ on _ ! You’re missing the morning! Let’s go see the horses already!”

“Gideon,” Lucille cautioned, but Kate smiled and shrugged her shoulders dismissively.

“It’s really fine. I should be on a train back later anyway, so it’s good to get a jump on the day. I guess I’ll see you later.”

Lucille only smiled politely and went back to making breakfast - looked like some sort of bircher muesli concoction or something equally healthy and pretentious. Kate herself preferred pig in a bun of a weekend morning. She’d try and choke down some muesli later, maybe after another coffee. For now, she let Gideon lead her out of the house and down to where Thomas would be.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate faces more than one fear on their journey to the distillery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, written with the invariably incredible yespolkadot_kitty!

"There's a girl. Come on, darling. Work with me. That's it. There, now." 

Thomas soothed Firefly, the abused horse Lucille had saved from the slaughterhouse last month. For all her regal airs, his sister had a soft heart, and he'd been unsurprised to learn about the new acquisition.

Firefly would make a good companion for his own mount, Bandit, when she relaxed enough to be allowed near him. Perhaps they'd even get a foal out of the introduction, he thought, whimsically.

Firefly eventually nuzzled into his hand and Thomas shook a few apple slices free from his jacket sleeve as a reward. His heart soared as it always did when she showed a tiny further modicum of trust.

“Uncle Thooommmmaaassss!” Gideon’s shout announced the arrival of the overexcited boy. It always pleased Thomas that Gid was so sweet and unaffected given the nature of the collapse of his mother and father’s relationship. The boy was a treasure.

To her credit, Firefly didn’t shy away as she had in the past, proof that she was slowly becoming used to people and her new home.

Gideon skidded to a stop six feet from Firefly. When Thomas looked up he saw Kate following, and his heart lurched at the sight of her. Her denim cut off shorts revealed shapely, lightly tanned legs. The sassy sweatshirt suited her to a T. She was a world away from the vapid socialites he had once dated, and he was glad of it.

The morning sun, already strong, kissed the waves of her tousled hair, picking out the golden strands. Her lips curved and he felt himself smile in return.

“Morning, GQ.”

“Morning.” He knew his gaze lingered on her mouth, and he let it. There was something simmering between them. He knew she’d felt it last night in the moonlit confines of that small room, the scent of whiskey floating in the air between them, the space between their bodies littered with unsaid words. “You’re up early.”

“Wanted to get a jump on the day. You know. You ready, then?” she asked, a clear challenge in her voice.

_Bring it on,_ Thomas thought. “Have you ever ridden a horse before?”

Uncertainty flashed in her eyes, but she smiled broadly. “Sure, when I was a kid, at fairs. Why?" She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her denim cut offs, cocking a hip. Thomas knew that stance. It portrayed false confidence. He knew it well because he'd used it himself many times as a callow young man.

'Well," he said, keeping his tone casual, "the distillery is a little way off. We could ride there. You're welcome to share my horse."

"Missus Kate can have her own horse, right?" Gideon piped up.

Thomas watched the indecision parade across Kate's face.

'I shall choose a gentle mare for you," Thomas promised sincerely. "We'll ride at the same pace."

"Okay. Sure. Why not," she replied, and he could hear the false bravado in her tone.

Well, it was a short ride, truly, he reasoned. And he could make sure to hold the reins of Sugarplum, the older mare, with his free hand. 

"Go on back to your Mum," Thomas instructed Gideon, to a drawn out moan and an eye roll. "We'll have treats later."

That perked him up.

Kate watched him go. "Treats?"

'Most Saturdays we have cake."

"Served by the butler, no doubt."

Thomas led Firefly back into her wide, clean stall. "You have seen Allerdale," he said calmly. 'We have no glut of servants, that is clear. The house is going to ruin and I am pouring every penny I make into it, and the stables. For now we mainly have the appearance of wealth rather than the actuality. Do you hate what I represent so much?"

Her face fell. "Thomas, I…."

*****

She watched his brows tilt up hopefully, even against the sadness that pulled at the corners of his lips. 

“Appearances can be deceptive, yes?” he asked, in that voice made for sin.

He kept bringing that up, as if repeating it again and again would settle it in her mind that while he looked like a proper cad, dressed to the nines in his manor and living off of a reputation and family money, that he was somehow _more_. More like her? She had to admit that he had surprised her, revealing a penchant for hard work and humor in turn that spoke more of his character than any tailored suit could, but it still wasn’t enough.

He was dangerous. Too charming and too breathtaking when he stepped closer to her and brushed her braid over her shoulder with too much familiarity. Each easy smile and show of tender concern he sent her way was chipping away at her will, and no matter how hard she scrambled, she couldn’t right her defenses fast enough.

She couldn’t go down that road again. Her heart wasn’t strong enough to make that journey a second time unscathed.

Clearing her throat, she took a few steps away from him, plastering a thin smile on her face as she glanced around the stables. “So, which horse is mine for the day? Let’s get this show on the road, cowboy.”

He moved about behind her, and the rustle of hay on the concrete floor followed by the _clop clop_ of hooves made her turn around to see Thomas leading a beautiful black mare, already saddled, in her direction. She steeled herself against the trepidation that raced through her veins.

“This is Sugarplum. She’s gentle, sweet, and should be an easy ride for you. If you think you can handle it.”

Determined not to show her anxiety, especially in the wake of his teasing, she stepped up to the mare, smoothing her hand down the majestic horse’s neck slowly. She was so soft, unbelievably so, and she felt both Thomas and Sugarplum watching her as if they were physical weights as she petted her. “She’s beautiful.”

Thomas stood behind her, his chest barely brushing her shoulder as he stroked the peaceful mare as well. “She is. Do you need a lift up?”

“No, I think I can manage,” she replied, with more bravado than she felt. “Just hold her steady?”

“As you wish.” He stepped around her, standing in front of Sugarplum, cooing softly to her and feeding her the occasional carrot from the pocket of his ancient Barbour.

Shoving her boot into the stirrup, Kate gripped a hand on the cantle of the saddle and the other over the pommel of the front, grunting as she swung her leg up and over. It wasn’t as graceful as she would’ve liked, at one point her face was firmly shoved into the wool blanket used as a saddle pad, but with only a bit of adjusting she was upright.

And it was _high_.

Thomas looked up at her with one brow quirked. “All set there, Carrie Bradshaw?”

She rolled her eyes at the Sex and the City reference despite the fear that crept down her throat and fluttered in her stomach at the slight shift of the horse beneath her. “I’m fine. Go get your horse so we can get the day started. We’re burning daylight.”

She couldn’t make out whatever he grumbled under his breath as he walked away, but it didn’t matter. She needed to focus on not falling off and spilling her brains onto the Sharpe estate. It would likely be the first and last bit of intelligence shown on the grounds for some time.

Adjusting her seat in the saddle, she clenched her thighs tightly into the supple leather and grasped the reins that he had thrown over the horse’s head. The stables were dusty, debris from hay kicked up into the air with the light breeze that blew through the open doors. A powerful sneeze wracked her body from nowhere, and made her jerk on the reins.

Sugarplum was off, racing through the stables at a full gallop. Thomas’ shout was lost to the wind, and all she could do was lean forward, close her eyes, and smooth her hands over the flexing neck of her mare, shouting her terror at the top of her lungs.

It felt like forever before the horse slowed, snorting and panting heavily. Kate cracked open her eyes, her entire body still clenched tight as she looked around at where the horse had decided to stop. The grassy copse of trees was almost picturesque with wildflowers scattered around the grass. Tall trees, heavy with leaves, provided shade against the sun that could only filter through in shifting shadows that rustled pleasantly in her ears.

“Kate!”

Thomas galloped up behind her, raven hair flying behind him and face set in focused distress. He dismounted while his white stallion was still slowing to a stop, rushing over to where Kate was still clinging onto Sugarplum like a lifeline.

“Let’s get you down from there for a moment,” he beckoned her, coming to her side with his arms outstretched.

She took the assistance without any protest, all but falling off of the mare as she dismounted, his hands strong and steady on her hips. He left them there once she was safely on the ground, and she hooked her arms around him, her hands clutching onto the white fabric of his button-down shirt desperately. Her head fell into the crook of his neck, and she breathed him in deeply, citrus and bergamot that wrapped around her and set her mind at ease.

“You’re alright, Kate. I’ve got you, darling," he soothed, one hand winding around to press into the middle of her back, the other winding into her wind-tousled hair, holding her to him firmly.

Which was a good thing, because her legs still trembled.

“It’s interesting that Sugarplum ran here, of all places. I came here often when I was younger, seeking to escape the oppressive wrath of my father. It was a safe haven of sorts to me. In the fall, the leaves turn so beautifully, reds and golds an enchanting backdrop to the books I would often bring along with me. When I was particularly daring, or father was in one of his moods, I would come here at night. It takes on an ethereal quality in the moonlight that I would love to show you, oh, Kate…”

Her heartbeat was just now beginning to feel like it wasn’t going to explode from her chest, gentled by his pleasant voice calmly giving up a piece of his childhood for her to store within her soul. The drum of his heart beneath her ear provided a soothing rhythm. She tilted her face up to him, trying to catch his expression from her position so close to him.

He was beautiful, expression soft and tender as he gazed down at her. The sunlight, warm and forgiving when filtered through the lush foliage of the trees above them, played off of his azure eyes, making them appear deeper than the sea. The faintest flush had blossomed on his fair skin, blooming over what bit of his chest she could see flirting with the shirt edges as his breath quickened beneath her quiet inspection.

If you had asked her after the fact, she wouldn’t have been able to tell you if he tilted his head down or if she stood on her tiptoes first. All she knew was that his lips were on hers in the next breath.

And the sparks that they had shared, the meaningful glances and the stolen touches, all came to a head.

His lips were soft over hers, gentle and smooth even as they lit a fire that rolled and stretched within her, warming her from the inside out. He tasted of coffee and sugar, a bittersweet and heady combination that stole all the air from her lungs. She melted beneath his touch, her hands splaying across his back, delighting in the stretch of his muscles barely contained beneath the layers of thin linen shirt and light Barbour.

And when he broke the kiss, only to rest his forehead against hers, she felt a tiny piece of her heart break off with the lost contact, left on his parted lips. Her eyes fluttered open to take him in, and a heavy weight settled in the pit of her stomach.

She pulled away from him, already missing his solid warmth, shaking her head minutely with a knit brow. “Thomas…”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions are running high, and Kate feels boxed into a corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're BACK after a holidays/family/work craziness hiatus!
> 
> Written with my super-talented pal, @hopelessromanticspoonie

Something had switched inside of her. Something irrevocable and deep and true that she couldn’t escape, brought on by the tender press of Thomas Sharpe's body against her own. Something that had to be stopped.

“I’m alright now,” Kate murmured, still catching her breath from the dizzying kiss. She stumbled backward a step and then found her footing, fully leaving his embrace to stand beside his stallion. “But I do think I’d like to have a bit of a lie down.”

In reality, she needed to get off of the Sharpe Estate immediately. The yearning that swelled within her chest as she stared at Thomas’ crestfallen face spoke of nothing but trouble for her fragile emotions. The pain written plainly into his beautiful features would haunt her for some time to come, she knew it, but it would be nothing to her own agony should she let this romantic foolishness continue. He was not the man for her, this was not the story she was meant to tell, and his world would never accept her as one of its own. 

Best to cut it off before she lost more of herself to the dashing gentleman approaching her slowly. 

“We can discuss this,” Thomas implored her, hands held out for hers in an open invitation she longed to accept. “You don’t have to run. Please.”

“I just want to go back to the house and rest for a bit, GQ. Can you snag Sugarplum and then ride with me back to that castle you call home?” She turned around and climbed onto his horse with shaking legs. The fear of her runaway heart was much stronger than the horse beneath her doing the same.

She kept her eyes on her hands as they gripped the pommel of the saddle so tightly the leather creaked beneath her fingertips. Thomas busied about quickly, tying Sugarplum’s reins to his before deftly sliding into the saddle behind her. She was perfectly bracketed by his arms to grip the reins in front of her, the hard planes of his chest warm and comforting as they moulded flush to her back.

The smallest bit of sentimental weakness coaxed her to lean back against his rigid body. For just those brief, stolen moments, she wanted to know how he felt moving with her to the gentle rocking of the horse. She could’ve sworn that she even felt the brush of his lips against the back of her head at one point, but that could’ve been her overactive and eager imagination tricking her into thinking he cared more for her than he did.

A breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding rushed out of her when Thomas pulled the horse to a stop in the stables. He eased down from behind her before helping her do the same. She thought she might burn up from the searing press of his hands into her soft waist, and she couldn’t retreat fast enough.

“Kate, I’ll come and check on you after I’ve taken care of the horses?”

His call was so hopeful, almost boyishly trusting, another bit of her heart ceded itself to him and fell to the dirt at her feet. She waved a hand in agreement, afraid of speaking around the lump that had formed in her throat at the thought of leaving.

It was idyllic. The beautiful crumbling house, the charming nephew, the devastatingly handsome and warm man, the taste of his lips lingering, like a fondly remembered song, on the tip of her tongue

It was dangerous. She rushed into the house, taking the stairs two at a time in a flurry, not stopping to admire the dilapidated grandeur that had captured her attention just yesterday. Her belongings were flung into her duffle without thought or care. There was only so much time to scrawl a note out on a bit of aged stationary she found on the bedside table in between packing and calling for a ride.

What she hadn’t prepared for was running into Gideon and his mother on the way out.

Gideon ran up to her and slammed his tiny body into her legs, shifting to bury his face in her shoulder when she bent down to hug him close. He smelled like sunshine and little boy, of laughter and dirt and all the happiness that life had to offer. 

“Missus Kate, are you leaving?” he cried, his face twisting into an overdramatic frown that further ripped her heart in two.

She plastered a smile on her face and brushed a few black curls from his bright eyes. “I am, but don’t you fret. Your Uncle told me about some cake hidden away for later tonight, and I bet you could have my share!”

He grumbled and sniffed, grabbing a handful of her sweatshirt as she stood up. “I don’t think Mum would let me.”

“Leaving so soon?” Lucille asked, her finely groomed brow arched as she stared down at her.

Kate pressed the hastily written note into her hand with a heavy sigh that rattled and shook on it’s way out. She untangled her clothing from Gideon’s grip, leaving another bit of her heart clenched in his little fist. “It was a mistake, coming here. Give this to Thomas? Please?”

“As you wish,” Lucille murmured. Kate could have sworn there was a note of sadness in her tone.

And with that she was gone, not daring to look back as she adjusted her duffle over her shoulder and fled. The car was waiting for her to slide into the backseat and breathlessly thank them for coming all the way out to Allerdale.

The tiniest shouts made it through the glass of the car as she pulled away, and she hid her face in her hands as she fought the overwhelming sadness that threatened to consume her body and soul.

This was for the best - for everyone involved. Even if it hurt like a bitch in the meantime. And it would.

She’d have to hope that Thomas didn’t have any business in her part of London for a few weeks. Or ever again, because she’d need at least forever to work out what to do with her heart.

~~~~~

_ She’s gone. _

Thomas knew it as surely as he knew his reflection in the mirror each morning.

He’d lingered over Sugarplum and Bandit’s grooming, giving Kate time. Thinking she’d just lick those imaginary wounds to her pride in peace, and then come out and give him hell again, lash him with her tongue (although not in the way he’d like). Her sass would be back, her fire, and all would be well.

But his fears were confirmed when he entered the kitchen to find Lucille and Gideon sitting at the counter, Lucillle with a plain envelope in her hands, Gideon painstakingly cutting man shapes out of a roll of what smelled like shortbread dough.

“She left,” Lucille said flatly, holding out the envelope.

Thomas’s heart clenched a moment, but he took the envelope all the same.

_ GQ, _

_ I know, I know. I ran, like the little girl I think we both know I am inside. _

_ Let’s be honest with each other. I’m no country lord’s girlfriend. I belong in a noisy city behind a bar. Playing with horses and living in splendour has never been my thing. _

_ Thanks, for  _ <strike> _ every _ </strike>

_ well, just thanks. _

_ K _

Thomas read the note through twice before sinking into one of the kitchen chairs. He raised miserable eyes to Lucille, all the fight gone out of him with a single sigh.

“So?” she asked.

“So, what?” He felt so tired.

“So, are you just going to sit there? She didn’t leave  _ that _ long ago. You could catch up. If you want to, that is,” she added, and Thomas could have sworn that her words rang of the faintest hint of challenge, a gauntlet being tossed into the space between them.

"She's spent her whole life running, and never being followed," Lucille added pointedly.

Thomas read the note one last time.  _ Oh, Kate. We’re more alike than you know, you and I. Both let down by our fathers. Both looking for someone I think we’ll find in each other, if only you’d let me in. _

“Are you going to get Missus Kate?” Gideon asked as he cut the last man shape from the fragrant rolled dough. The whole kitchen smelled of butter and sugar.

Thomas met the boy’s hopeful gaze, a smile beginning to tug at his lips. “You know, I think I might be.”

Gideon pointed to one of the man shaped biscuits. He’d given this one a sausage of hair shaped around its face, and three little sugar gems for lips. “Good, ‘cause I maded this one for her.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas catches up to his runaway guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written with the absolutely lovely yespolkadot_kitty! Writing with you is an absolute blast! <3

It was completely fine that Thomas hadn’t come after her.

It was totally fine that she was thinking about him using his proper name.

It was very much fine that her fingertip kept tracing over her lips, as if branding the memory of his kiss forever on her skin.

Except it wasn’t fine.

It wasn’t fine that the corners of her eyes burned with tears she refused to shed on principle alone. It wasn’t fine at all that her heart ached with each beat that echoed in her ears, tuning out every other sound. It was not fine that she had desperately hoped beyond all logic that Thomas would come after her.

Nobody had before, so why would he be any different?

Why would that vastly complicated man with a breathtaking smile and kind eyes come after someone so common, so unlike anyone he’s ever dated before, so weighed down with emotional baggage that they gathered beneath her eyes in dark purple circles?

It wasn’t a fairytale, and she would never be Cinderella.

Not that she wanted to be. She was perfectly capable of getting by on her own. She didn’t need a dashing prince to come into her life, rescuing her from an eternity toiling away behind a bar, sweeping her off to grand parties and expensive dinners and muesli for breakfast.

But what about quiet evenings spent in a study, sipping smokey whiskey and gifting the other bits of their souls in the soft lamplight? Laughter shared over the exuberance of a happy little boy, dragging them along by their fingers in an iron grip they wouldn’t dare break? Banter tossed back and forth in a hole-in-the-wall restaurant over cheap food and beer?

It didn’t matter.

Her feet bounced against the floorboard of the cab incessantly, and the passing scenery blurred as she stared out the window. Until traffic slowed to a crawl, before stopping altogether. Surrounded by cars, a common occurrence for the London native, she settled back against the seat and closed her eyes against the all too painful images of Thomas’ hopeful, but distraught, face.

“Are you alright there, miss?”

She cracked her eyes open, rubbing at them with a heavy sigh, not even caring if what little mascara she had put on that morning smudged. She hated chatty cab drivers. It was why Uber was invented. “Fine, thanks.”

Sweet silence filled the cab, and she slumped back into the seat, thinking that she’d be allowed to spend the rest of the drive - once they started moving again - in relative peace.

She was wrong.

“Erm, miss, you came from the Sharpe Estate, correct?”

She pushed her fingers against her temples, willing herself to just sink into the stained cloth seats beneath her to avoid wherever the conversation could possibly be headed. “Yes, why?”

“I believe that might be Sir Thomas Sharpe. On horseback. And he’s gaining on us.”

_He wouldn’t._

She twisted in the seat, staring out the back of the cab to confirm the source of anxiety that suddenly swirled in her stomach like a swarm of bees. There he was, seated on Bandit like a lord of old, just as the cabbie had said, his dark hair poking above the tallest vehicles as his horse trotted down the street. He peered into every car, obviously looking for someone.

And the only person she could think that he could be searching for was _her._

It was as if she lost control of her body. Without thinking, she stepped out of the cab with her knees knocking against each other, standing as tall as she could manage, feeling lots of eyes on her at once, and maybe _not caring_ because _he had come._ He had followed her.

Was he for real? He looked something out of a movie, or a long-ago medieval ballad, hair windswept and clothes disheveled from the ride, calling her name from the back of his white stallion as it weaved in between the stationary cars without pause. _Her_ name. And when he finally saw her, standing like someone gone mad in the midst of it all, the smile that tugged on his lips stopped her heart for a moment that stretched.

“Kate,” he called, galloping up to her, dismounting and closing the distance between them. He stopped just in front of her, so close she could smell the clean scent of his sweat and cologne and the faint aroma of leather polish mixed amongst the unpleasant exhaust of the idling cars about them. His azure eyes searched her face plaintively.

What did she do with her hands? They longed to reach out, push a stray lock of hair from his flushed forehead, curl in the collar of his shirt. Instead, she twisted them together in front of her, chewing lightly on her bottom lip. “You're going to get yourself killed, riding in this traffic."

The tenderness in his eyes was rivaled only by that of his whispered reply of, "Another obituary for Lucille."

"What?" She squinted up at him against the sun that glinted off of his raven hair, utterly confused at his response. That wasn't the direction she'd expected the conversation to take after he'd gallantly chased her down on horseback.

***

“Oh, I sometimes - that’s a conversation for later.” He smiled down at her, and took her hands in his, gently curling his fingers around hers. 

“You came,” she said woodenly, and Thomas suddenly realised something.

“You didn’t think I would?”

She worried her lip, her eyes downcast, and she was so plaintive in that single moment that his heart ached, hard, for what she’d been through, and he wished he could wipe that slate clean for her. “Well, why would you. I chose to leave after all.”

“And I chose to follow you.” He lifted a hand from hers to cup her cheek. “And I always will. Until you tell me not to. Until you tell me no, Kate, I will follow you anywhere you permit me to. Although I might not be able to do it on horseback every time.” She gave a watery laugh, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Oh, Kate. Gideon made you a gingerbread ma- person.”

“He did?”

“He truly did. Come back to Allerdale with me? Please? And tell me what I did to make you leave, and I swear I shall never do such a thing again.”

She melted into him then, and Thomas thought it was the most magical thing, the strongest woman he’d ever met, showing her vulnerability to him amid the sea of traffic, in the capital of the country. If he could get a peek at this Kate, the Kate deep inside, then maybe, maybe, he had a shot with her. For real.

“You didn’t do anything,” she mumbled.

He started to ask her what the devil she meant, but then the traffic ahead started to move, and someone impatient _arsehole_ behind Kate’s car beeped their horn. Thomas had a mind to teach him some manners in a less than polite fashion, but Kate straightened up. “Meet you back at Allerdale?” she asked. Her voice was all business again, but her eyes, her eyes were softer.

And Thomas smiled, knowing she probably needed this time to herself. “Of course. I’ll have some tea ready. For the gingerbread.”

“It’s a date.”

Thomas watched her slide back into the car - less shaky now, he noted, good - before he got back into Bandit’s saddle and made the trip back home at a more leisurely pace. Kate beat him there, of course, but he’d aimed to let her. No need for her to be poleaxed twice in one day. When he dismounted, digging in the pocket of his Barbour for a carrot to give to Bandit, Kate was crouching on the lawn, Gideon standing before her, a plate full of gingerbread people in his small hands.

“And this one is you!”

“It’s an amazing likeness!” Kate lifted the gingerbread version of herself. ”Can I?”

“Okay!” Gideon beamed, and Kate bit into the gingerbread with a grin.

“It’s delicious.”

“Of course,” the boy beamed. “I maded it.”

Kate stood up and held out her hand. “How about we go inside and share these with everyone? I bet they’d taste even better with tea.”

Gideon carefully shifted the plate to one hand with his tongue stuck out between his lips in concentration before slipping his tiny hand into hers. “Why do grown-ups like tea? I want lemonade.”

“Let’s ask your mum about that, shall we?” Kate laughed, the most carefree sound he’d heard from her perhaps ever, and Thomas’ heart squeezed at the scene. Kate had so much to give. Her heart was as wide as the ocean, and if she were to open it to him, he’d never stop being grateful every day he lived.

He didn’t know when it had stopped being about the whiskey and started being about Kate. But now that he’d gotten to know her, he somehow needed her more than he’d ever needed anything. And he had to hope she felt the same way.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his horseback stunt, Kate decides it's time Thomas knew more about her.

The gentle sway of Bandit’s sinewy body beneath her and Thomas pressed Kate’s back into his lean, solid chest in a way that sent her thoughts spiraling into a decidedly _delicious_ and _dangerous _place that existed in the long-ignored heat between her legs. His wrists rested on her thighs right where her shorts met skin, lazily holding the reins of his well-trained stallion as he guided them toward the distillery they’d meant to explore yesterday before everything had gone off script.

Despite her expectations, there hadn’t been a moment of awkwardness on her return. Lucille gave her a slow nod in greeting, and if she squinted hard enough and tilted her head just right, Kate would’ve sworn she saw the edges of her lips curling into the beginnings of a smile. It was a start.

And then the evening had been completely dominated by Gideon, who insisted upon decorating cookies, then having her help with dinner (where he mostly stirred ingredients that the three adults prepared for him), and then read him stories before bed. He just seemed so excited to see her that he didn’t want the evening to end.

_ “And they lived happily ever after,” Kate whispered to the sleeping boy, carefully setting the book aside on his small bedside table. She slowly peeled her fingers from his tiny grip before giving into the urge to lean down and leave a light kiss on his forehead after brushing it free from his black curls. “At least in fairy tales they do.” _

_ “He adores you.” _

_ Turning around, she locked eyes with Thomas, who watched her with such a complex mixture of longing and heartache on his face she didn’t know how to react. She waved her hand out to the hallway, tiptoeing out of the room in her bare feet to close the door behind them as soundlessly as she could. _

_ “He knows a good thing when he’s found it,” she teased, leaning against the wall in the hallway, feeling the exhaustion of the emotionally trying day weighing on her now that everything was said and done. _

_ Thomas reached up to caress her cheek. “As do I. I was hoping we could talk?” _

_ The urge to lean into his touch was too strong to ignore. Her eyelids fluttered shut for the briefest moment before she shook her head, looking up into his impossibly deep blue eyes. She needed time to process everything, to see how her head felt about her heart leading her decisions for the day, and to decide where she wanted to go with him. Thomas’ very presence was a distraction, heartbreakingly stunning, and that was the issue. “Can we postpone the soul searching until tomorrow? I just…” _

_ “Of course.” He dipped his head to leave a lingering kiss on her temple. “Sleep well, Kate.” _

Now, as Bandit brought them to the doors of the distillery, her stomach twisted itself into knots dreading the conversation that was to come. Was honesty the best policy, or should she hide behind her barricades of bluster and bluff to protect what was left of her barely healed heart? She allowed him to help her dismount, blushing at the intensity of his stare as his hands pressed into the sides of her waist.

Panic, quieter than before, still tapped against her chest and squeezed around her lungs. She cleared her throat, running a hand through her loose hair before pointing at the large metal structure to their right. “The whiskey?”

His eyes watched her for a moment longer, full to the brim with thought that she wanted to unravel, before he lifted one hand to the middle of her back to guide her into the structure. The scents of the whiskey were most prevalent once the door was closed, sealing inside the dimly lit room with shelves stretching throughout the space and above their heads. Oak, smoke, and a taste of sweetness perfumed the air as he led her throughout the walls of barrels, outlining the work he had accomplished over recent years to get to where they were today.

“There is still much to be done, with expanding the knowledge of _ Crimson Peak_, to our stores, to convincing fine establishments such as _ The Dapper Tap _ to stocking it.” He stopped against an outer wall, kicking up a foot against the metal, leaving his hands loose at his sides. “What do you think?”

He _ must _ know how ridiculously handsome he was, his knee bent in front of him and his midnight stained hair curling over his face and down the back of his head from the humidity of the summer day. She crossed her arms over the thin t-shirt covering her soft stomach, quirking her brow with a feigned air of disdain. “I don’t know, GQ. Is this all that you have to offer us?”

“Your place of work? Yes.” He reached out and snagged her hand, tugging her close until her hip brushed against the bend of his knee. “You? Certainly not.”

The familiarity in his smile, in the rub of his thumb over her knuckles, the rough edge to his voice was too much. She tugged her hand free and took a few small steps back to put some distance in between them. The vice on her heart lessened, even as the traitorous muscle itself fluttered in her chest at the hurt that flashed in his eyes.

“What can I do, Kate?” he asked, pleading plaintive in his silken voice.

In a fit of frustration she scrubbed her hands through her hair, waging war inside her head as she stared at her boots scuffing the concrete floor anxiously. This lovely man asking for her help in breaking down the walls around her heart set off too many warning bells. But they made her feel weak, vulnerable, as if the past controlled her.

Nobody controlled Kate Adams. Not anymore and never again.

“It isn’t you. It _ is _you, but it isn’t you,” she tried for the vague explanation, searching him to see if it was enough. Judging by the concern still lingering on the sculpted planes of his face, it wasn’t enough.

She took a deep breath, fighting against the fear that crawled beneath her skin. “You’re just so much like _him_. My ex. Rich, handsome as hell, put together and full to the brim with charisma that drew me in like a moth to a flame. I’ve never been wealthy, never will be, but man, was it a whirlwind to come out of university to meet this man who wanted to give me the world on a silver platter. Drag me around parties in dresses worth more money than had ever existed in my bank account, decorate me with jewelry and gift me expensive handbags to hold all of his empty promises safe to my chest.”

Her hands shook at her sides, and she clenched them together in front of her, willing her stubborn strength to remain steadfast and her eyes to remain clear. “I burned it all. My flat smelled like burnt plastic for ages, and I probably killed off some brain cells I couldn’t afford to lose. But staring at all of that,” she paused, a faraway look in her eyes as she stared unseeing at the wall next to his head, “I only saw him when I looked at them. Derrick, fucking some socialite when I had gone over there to _ surprise _ him after I’d gotten off work early.”

The bitter laugh that barked from her throat was too loud and hollow for the grand empty space. “He didn’t even pull out to talk to me, for fuck’s sake. He gave me some bullshit about how it was bound to happen, ‘that’s how the world works’, but at least he ‘paid me for my services’ until someone better came along. Someone thinner, prettier, with the class and manners and social status to make a good trophy wife.”

It all came out of her in a rush that she couldn’t control. And now that it was lifted from her chest, she felt wrung out, exhausted and honestly just in need of a hug. Instead, she stood there, working her hands together in front of her stomach until the tips of her fingers turned white, blinking away any betraying emotion that dared to make itself known on her reddened face. Thank goodness for the small miracle of her hair tumbling down to hide most of her nervous, distraught expression from view.

There was something about Thomas that called to her to confide in him. Whether it was the tender thoughtfulness in his expression whenever he listened to her, or his unwavering support, she longed to sink into the sanctuary that he offered. But that tiny voice inside her head kept her rooted to the spot. Best to keep her distance to protect both of them from the destruction any sort of relationship between them could cause.

When she looked up from her angry reverie, Thomas’s face had changed. He looked unhappy. No, not unhappy. Furious. He looked something close to _ feral. _

“And where is this _ Derrick _ now?” he asked, his tone low and soft, but nonetheless fairly unnerving. 

“I’ve no idea,” Kate answered honestly. “Probably jetting around the world, still, fucking heiresses, on Daddy’s money.”

“I’m glad you burned all his trinkets,” Thomas muttered darkly, his eyes almost black in his face of planes and angles. “Pity he didn’t catch fire with them, burned to a crisp. Still, it would have been a damn sight more than he deserved.”

Kate’s heart stuttered. “But-”

Thomas crossed the space that separated their bodies and cupped her face gently. “What I am trying to say, _ Katherine, _ is that if this _ charlatan _ of a man - and a shoddy excuse for a man, really - couldn’t see your worth, he himself is worthy of exactly nothing. A fist in the face, perhaps. One I’d very much like to administer myself. And you say that I am similar to this unfaithful _ reprobate _?”

The hurt on his face was so stark that Kate drew in a sharp breath. “I - On the surface.”

“Then perhaps it’s time we both did some swimming, don’t you think?” And he leaned down, touched his lips to hers, featherlight, a question in the soft, barely-there kiss. He kept his hand on her face, but that touch, too, was polite, just a whisper of skin on skin, and she could have broken free with only a token effort.

But she didn’t, because he was right, and even if her heart was on the line again, hadn’t Thomas _ proved _ he deserved at least this weekend? This chance.

She kissed him back, allowed her arms to slide around his neck, let her fingers toy with the errant curls of his hair where they met his collar. She breathed him in and as their tongues danced, as the sunlight from the window warmed her back, she hoped against hope that she wouldn’t regret it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas revels in their newfound closeness, and then has another proposition for Kate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written with the awesome yespolkadot_kitty! I'm so sorry that this chapter took so long to get out! With the writing hiatus I'm still kind of on, and YPDK becoming quite busy with her work schedule, writing has taken a bit of a backseat for both of us. I hope y'all enjoy!

_Sweet Kate._

She tasted of promise, of heady, bright sunshine, of anticipation, and just a gasp of sugar from one of Gideon’s cookies she’d eaten earlier. And she was perfect, Thomas thought giddily as her fingers teased the ends of his hair, brushing the nape of his neck, lighting up the nerve endings there. Her tongue danced with his, and vaguely he registered his own voice moaning, low and desperate. _More, more, more._

But she was skittish still. He eased off from the kiss, brushed his closed mouth over hers, then rested his forehead on her own. “Sweet Kate.”

Her eyes were big smudges on her face. “What do you want from me, Thomas?”

He hesitated. He could spin her a sacchine lie, say that he just wanted this moment with her. But he never wanted to lie to her, not ever. He sensed they hovered precariously on a tipping point.

“Everything,” he said baldly. “Everything you consent to giving me.”

“Well.” Kate leaned into him, and her breathing evened out. “And here I thought you’d say something trite, romantic and foolish.”

He smiled, liking the feel of her in his arms. “I can be plenty of both, I assure you. But I want to be truthful, too. I’m not him, Kate.”

“I know,” she whispered. 

“I would, you know,” he mused thoughtfully as she placed one hand on his chest, over where his heart beat a ragged tattoo for her and her alone. “Punch Derrick in his lying charlatan face. Again and again.”

He sensed rather than saw her smile. “He isn’t worth your time, Thomas.”

“Perhaps not, but you might smile, and that would be worth a thousand hours, a thousand punches.”

Kate laughed weakly. “Now that is foolish and romantic.”

He stroked a stray curl back behind her ear. “Didn’t I tell you?”

She relaxed again, another degree of separation between them gone. Thomas longed to break down all her walls, to have her boneless beneath him, or atop him, sighing his name, to feel her needs and desires and fulfill them all for her again and again, until she never needed to feel sad again, until only joy and sunshine filled her.

But that would take him time. And that was fine, because Thomas Sharpe was a patient man. And Katherine Adams was worth waiting for, fighting for. Staying for. And as soon as she was ready, he’d tell her that as often as she could stand to hear it. For now, he had to be cautious, telling her in his actions, his gentleness, his patience.

“I’m prickly,” she began, hesitantly. “I’m defensive most of the time. I want to be right - all the time.”

“And what are your flaws?” he asked, coaxing a surprised laugh from her, a bit breathy, and _hell_ if the sound of her laughter didn’t make his heart clench. He wanted to hear her laugh all the time, hear the smile in her voice when she spoke.

They stood that way for a little while. Time passed; Thomas didn’t care how much. Kate was pliable and languid and comfortable in his arms, and warm, lazy contentment, like the feel of sunlight on his back, settled low in his belly, unfurling pleasantly.

“Tell me about the obituaries?” she asked softly, at length.

Thomas chuckled. “Oh, that. I did say it was a conversation for later, didn’t I. Well, before I started seriously selling the whiskey, whilst I waited for it to mature, I became rather bored. It’s a terrible stereotype; the bored aristocrat. I’m sorry to say I rather played to it. So, with not a lot to do, I sometimes made up my own obituaries for my own amusement, and then continued, mostly because it irritated Lucille.”

Kate snuggled into him, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Your favourite one?”

“Where I drown face first in one of the copper stills, but the obituary is about how fabulous the whiskey tastes,” he said immediately.

Kate snorted with laughter. “You’re one of a kind, Thomas Sharpe.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He tipped her chin up, catching her gaze, and then kissed the laughter off her sweet lips, kissing her again and again until he felt quite dizzy from her taste, her scent, her touch.

The buzzing of her mobile made them spring apart. Kate pushed a hand through the tumbled fall of her hair, and Thomas let himself imagine how she would look laid out on his bed, all that glorious hair spread over the crisp, snow white pillow. 

She dug into her pocket, pulled the phone out and frowned at the screen. “Oh. It’s Eddie, I’d better take this.”

~

“We’re closed! It’s 3 am, go find a chippy to soak that up!”

The knocking persisted, and Kate propped her elbow up on the edge of the broom, rolling her eyes towards the door to let out a few choice words for the drunken, insistent idiots.

But it was Thomas who stood there, his knuckles pressed against the small glass window in the old wooden doors, shoulders hunched in his leather jacket against the warm summer rain. The grin that tugged on her lips was unstoppable, and she dashed over to the door and drew him inside with her hand curled into the lapel of his jacket.

The rain glinting off of his raven’s wing hair in the warm lights of the bar captured her attention for far longer than she’d like to admit, and she couldn’t help the faint flush to her cheeks when she finally pulled her gaze to his. From the smile on his lips, he definitely noticed her staring.

“Hello, darling.” His voice was kissed with elegance, James Bond with a lick of the bedroom. “Have you eaten?”

It was such an odd question, delivered with a touch of concern in the early morning with the gentle kiss to her forehead, that all she could do was furrow her brows together in confusion.

His other hand, how had she not noticed that it was tucked inside his jacket, pulled out a small container. Their fingers laced together and he led her to the bar where he set the plastic on the polished wood. With a smooth motion of his arms, he placed an overturned stool from the bar back to rights and patted the seat.

“I assumed you would be hungry after your shift, and this will leave you feeling much better than a greasy takeaway.”

“But, Thomas, I’m closing up. I need to sweep-”

Her protests were hushed by him shucking off his jacket, setting it beside the food container, before delicately unwrapping her fingers from the worn handle to take the broom for himself. “Sit. Eat. I have a proposition for you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’d be a sorry excuse for a man if I couldn’t clean up once in a while, love.”

Kate flushed, watching him. Some men of his station would have balked at a menial task, but not Thomas, mix of contradictions that he was.

_A proposition_. Considering what the last proposition had led to, the intimate knowledge she had of the play of his lips on hers, the heady scent of bergamot and spice that scented his skin, she sat down and opened up the container to find a wrap of grilled chicken, hummus, and roasted vegetables inside. She tucked in, chewing as she watched him roll up the sleeves of his sky blue button-down to his elbows with the broom handle tucked between his neck and shoulder to the tune of _“Somebody to Love”_ by Queen playing faintly in the background.

“There is an event that I must attend, to shake hands and make small talk for _Crimson Peak_. It will be dreadfully boring, I’m afraid,” he began sweeping, directing his silken voice at the floorboards that he dragged the ratty broom across. “Normally, I would go alone, or bring Lucille along to lessen some of the monotony.”

Kate’s brow arched up, and she sucked a bit of hummus from her thumb before setting the rest of the wrap back in the container. Her arms crossed over her chest against the thrumming of her heart at such a handsome, high-born man lowering himself to close the bar. For her. “And you’d like _me_ to go with you instead?”

The floor now clean, the broom was easily leaned up against the wall, and he closed the distance between them in three strides of his mile-long legs to gaze down at her hopefully, those blue eyes warm and soft in his face. “Please.”

Tilting her head back and forth playfully, she shrugged. Events like that weren’t her idea of a good time, but she and Thomas were in a relationship now. Wasn’t that something you did for someone you cared about? Sucked it up to go to things you didn’t like so they would have a slightly better time? Her arms unfolded so her hands could settle over the firm muscles of his chest. “What’s in it for me?” she teased.

The grasp of his fingers over the swell of her hips guided her from the stool, and he pulled her to the middle of the room. It was all too easy for him to sway them side to side, a sweet sort of slow dancing, their bodies flush so that she could smell the faint tang of bittersweet coffee that laced his breath.

_Oh, Lord  
Ooh somebody, ooh somebody_

“Whatever you desire, it’s yours.”

_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_

The intensity of his answer shocked her, sent her heart racing to beat against the crumbling walls surrounding it, and she dropped her chin so that her forehead rested against the edge of his razor sharp jaw. “I’ll go.”

Thomas’ first finger and thumb left her lush hip to catch her chin, tilting her face up so he could press a lingering kiss, full of longing and affection and so much care that it stole her breath away, against her lips. Her fingers curled into the thin material of his shirt, warm from his skin, as she nipped his bottom lip before pulling away.

_Somebody find me  
Somebody find me somebody to love_

If only she had her phone out to take a picture of the look of shock that registered on his face, just before his eyes darkened at the bold gesture. With the clearing of his throat, he nodded, and smoothed his hand over the side of her neck beneath her riotous curls. The song faded out, Freddie Mercury’s beautiful voice on the last note hanging in the air. “I’ll pick you up at one.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE FINALLY BACK!!
> 
> Thomas and Kate attend a swanky networking event and meet a face from Kate's past.

Kate had obviously lost her only remaining marble.

What made her think that putting on her finest little black dress and swiping some mascara onto her dark eyelashes would be all she needed to fit in with Thomas’ crowd? Every bit of her wanted to tear off the soft, clingy dress, throw on her most comfortable set of pyjamas and veg out in front of the telly.

The buzz of her doorbell jolted her from her spiralling train of thought and she hissed after poking herself in the side of her neck with the stud of her earrings. “Fuck. Coming!”

She should have cleaned up before he arrived, Kate thought as she glanced around the cramped living area of her one bedroom flat. It wasn’t messy, no, but the small space appeared pretty cluttered when full to the brim with overloaded bookshelves and mismatched furniture. Glaring daggers at the dirtied mug and bowl from her quick lunch, she was all too aware of how drastically their living situations differed. 

His chocolate-dipped voice easily made it through her thin front door when raised in concern. “Kate?”

No time to do a last minute tidy up. She yanked open her front door and her jaw dropped at the absolutely delicious sight of Thomas in a razor sharp black suit and tie. His head lifted from where he had been staring at the grubby concrete entryway and it felt so cliche, but her heart stopped at the soft, awestruck shine in his fine blue eyes.

“You look..” he appeared to struggle for the proper descriptor as he closed the distance between them to press a soft kiss to the crown of her carefully curled hair.

The nerves nagging her endlessly lessened some at the press of his large hands over her upper arms and the familiar wash of his spicy, citrusy cologne. “Way too hot to be your date, I know. I need to get my shoes and then I’ll be ready. Okay?”

“I will await you with bated breath.”

He tossed out such romantic nonsense like that with such earnest ease that she had no choice but to take him seriously. Her hand squeezed his quickly before she rushed back to her bedroom to slip on her nicest black flats and tuck her cellphone into her only nice clutch (thankfully also black).

“Who is Edmund Evans?”

The only slightly anxious smile fell from her face as she left the bedroom to see Thomas holding a folded up letter with a ring of condensation wrinkling the paper. Dread hung low in her stomach and she swallowed. “My sperm donor. Where did you find that?”

His eyes tightened with that feral fury she had glimpsed in the distillery. “I did not want this foul piece of  _ filth _ ruining the coffee mug I found atop it. Does he say such awful things to you in each month’s letter?”

“I don’t typically read them,” she admitted, her eyes focusing on the clench of his hands as he crushed the paper in his grip. “But when I used to, he did, yeah.”

The low growl of his voice rumbled through her to clench low in her belly. “I would  _ very  _ much like to acquaint him with my fist.”

“He means nothing. Come on, GQ, let’s go drink some free whiskey and pretend that we actually care about some uptight blowhards.”

“Well. When you put it so nicely.”

*********

Anxiety gripped her after the door to his sleek, black car closed behind them with a wink from Andy. Her hand tightened in the crook of Thomas’ arm as they joined the swell of socialites smiling too brightly in sky high heels, men leering at them down the line of their upturned noses. 

Kate didn’t belong here. It was too much. What if Derrick was here? He would pick her out amongst his manicured ranks right away. Thomas would see that she wasn’t good enough for him or his lifestyle and toss her on her shapely ass, leaving her heart in tatters before the shined soles of his slick shoes.

“Breathe, Kate.” His head dipped down low to whisper the words against the shell of her ear. “It is they who are unworthy of  _ you _ . Now how about a bit of liquid courage?”

It was much easier to play the part of soulless arm candy with the warmth of fine whiskey buzzing beneath her skin. She slipped into the familiar role of smiles, meaningless platitudes, and forced laughter as if she had never left. Thomas was as charming as ever, chatting up businessmen with pound signs in their eyes upon the exchange of business cards and handshakes.

“Allow me to refresh your beverage, sir. Excuse me one moment.”

She watched Thomas walk away with only a slight amount of hesitation before shifting her attention back to the distribution magnate across from her. Holding the glass against her lips with soft music playing beneath the din, her stomach filled with finicky finger foods and smokey liquor, catching the hint of Thomas’ cologne lingering against her skin from his parting kiss to her cheek, she was almost able to enjoy herself. When the conversation shifted to the dashing man currently bellying up to the bar, her forced grin gained a hint of sincerity.

“He is a fine young man and a driven businessman.”

Kate nodded automatically and did a quick, cursory sweep around the wood-panelled lounge. She recognized no one, and it appeared as if everyone who was anyone had arrived for the high-brow event. Affection slipped honey into her words and pulled her rouged lips into a true smile, “He is indeed. As a bar mana-”

“Is he alright?”

The concern in her companion’s tone jerked her gaze over to the bar where Thomas stood ramrod straight, glaring daggers at a man currently invisible to her for the thickness of the crowd. Even from such a distance she could easily pick out the tension pulling his shoulders back.  _ Shit. _

“Excuse me.”

She pushed her way through the crowd, uncaring if the whiskey clutched in her white-knuckled hand spilled for the unease rabbiting her heartbeat in her throat. Whatever had happened, they needed to shut it down immediately. She recognized the beginnings of a fight when she saw one, and this was not the time nor the place for it. Too much was on the line for  _ Crimson Peak _ .

“Thomas, what are you-”

Her worried words died in her throat as she stepped up to his side and lighted a hand upon the tight muscles of his back. The ghost that had haunted her for the entirety of her life, staring back at her from newspapers and tabloids alike, scowled at her in the ruddy, pock-mocked flesh.

She hardly noticed her hand losing its hold on her tumbler, or the sound of shattering of glass as whiskey splashed against her bare legs. “Dad?”

****

Thomas glanced from the jumped-up toff before him to Kate, her face pale and drawn. So  _ this _ old coot was his precious Kate’s father. Or, sperm donor, as she had so eloquently put it.

Edmund Evans might have been a dapper looking man in his youth, but he’d run to fat now, too much indulgence having bloated his waistline and given him sallow, overfed skin and jowls.

The older man had approached him to talk about  _ Crimson Peak _ , and Thomas had been chatting away politely until the toff introduced himself. Evans had offered his hand, and Thomas had looked at it, and said “I’d rather not.”

_ That’s _ when Kate had arrived.

She looked a vision tonight. Easily worth twenty of these over-coiffed socialite girls. Kate was upfront and honest and  _ real, _ and in some ways he wished he’d met her before, but perhaps his younger self wouldn’t have been worthy of her.

“Something wrong?” Evans asked, his lips slightly stained with red wine. Then he turned, having belatedly heard his daughter.

Kate looked at Thomas, stricken, and her eyes said  _ no, no, don’t, _ but Kate had spent her entire life being cast aside as if she didn’t matter, and if Thomas had anything to say about it, it ended here.

“Katherine. What are you doing here?” Evans asked, as if she was a waiter rather than a guest.

“She’s here with me.” Thomas beckoned Kate over, but she stood stock still, a deer in headlights. He’d never seen her so…. cowed, and the shock of it made his anger burn even brighter, lighting a furious fire in his heart. “She is here as my guest, and as such you may  _ not _ speak to her unless she gives her express permission, are we clear?”

Evans looked from Thomas to his daughter, surprise flickering over his jowly face. “Snagged a rich one here, haven’t you, Katherine? Your mother would be so  _ very _ proud.”

Kate’s mouth fell open, her face rosy with embarrassment. 

Thomas advanced on Evans, looking down his nose at the shorter man, making his expression as icy cold as possible. The rest of the people at the event dropped away, and Thomas’ world narrowed to his desire to give Kate justice.

"Do you have the  _ faintest  _ idea of the brilliant, bright, self-sufficient woman you're missing out on, Evans? Do you? How strong and capable and smart and beautiful she is? I hope you know she neither needs nor wants you in her life, you charlatan."

Kate’s father smirked. “Oh yes, she’s got your wrapped around her little finger, all right. Actually, not so little, by the looks of it. You feeding her as part of the deal?” He shook his head, amused. “Just a whore like her mother, using you for your-”

In the next heartbeat he was on the ground, flat out.

Thomas swore at the pain ripping through his hand, but the sting and soreness was worth it to have flattened the bastard’s nose.

Evans lay on the floor, writhing pathetically, moaning. A few people looked in curiously, but at Thomas’ stone cold glare, no one intervened.

After a second, Thomas knelt on the floor, got right up in the toff’s face. “If you  _ ever _ write to Kate again, if you  _ ever _ contact her, I will make you sorry you ever accepted tonight’s invitation, and I will not even have to lift a finger to do it, understand? I will  _ eviscerate _ you in society. I will ensure that copies of the drivel you write to her are published all over London.”

Evans took a shaky breath intending to speak, but Thomas wasn’t done. 

“From now on, if you arrive at an event and you see Kate there, you turn around and leave. Are. We. Clear?”

Evans clutched his nose and nodded weakly, blood leaking from between his thick fingers.

Thomas stood up, dusting off his trousers as if brushing away unpleasantness. He rounded Evans’ body and offered his arm to Kate. “Shall we, my dear?”

Kate closed her mouth, and blinked a few times, recovering. “Wow. You have a mean right hook, GQ.”

He opened his hand and flexed his fingers. “I’ve actually never punched anyone before. It’s…. rather painful.”

Kate lifted his sore hand and brushed her lips over his bruised knuckles. “Let’s get you some ice for that hand. C’mon, sweetheart.”

Thomas’ mood lifted even more as she led him to the bathrooms. “You called me sweetheart.”

A smile curved her lips, so kissable, and he couldn’t resist just dipping his head for a moment, and tasting the honeyed whiskey on her mouth. 

Her hand tucked into his elbow and squeezed, as she said cheekily, “Haven’t we established that I don’t hate you?”


End file.
